


A Little Bit

by katnisskirk



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Allison Argent, Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Hale Fire, Alternate Universe - Human, Awesome Laura Hale, Construction Worker Derek, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles, POV Alternating, Slow Build, Tech Guy Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-01-19 19:01:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1480588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katnisskirk/pseuds/katnisskirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They wouldn’t know what hit them. (Well, they would—Stiles was going to be the only suspect and he was well aware of that fact. He just didn’t care.) He might be a bit on the scrawny side compared to all the manly man construction workers he’d seen around the place, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t fuck shit up. His methods were simply a bit more creative and required stealth, not muscle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Extension Cord Flop

**Author's Note:**

> Human AU wherein Stiles is a computer technician who meets Derek, the owner of a construction company, at a shared construction site. Things escalate from there.
> 
> Title from Little Bit by Lykke Li. 
> 
> Warnings: Mentions and eventual descriptions of the Hale Fire (although not entirely canon), lots of cursing, mentions of past emotional abuse (Kate Argent), and probably other stuff that I'll mention in chapter notes.
> 
> I don't know much about construction. Or technology. (Or most things, really.) I hope it isn't too bad in those regards. This isn't beta'd so I apologize for any errors. Last thing, I don't have any idea how long this is going to be, but I think it's going to be kind of long. I'll try to update weekly, but don't get worried if it's longer. (Hint: It'll probably be longer)
> 
> Originally prompted by [fullmoonwanderer](http://fullmoonwanderer.tumblr.com/post/82399930083/so-theres-a-bunch-of-construction-going-on-in-the) on Tumblr.
> 
> Here's [the mix](http://8tracks.com/catminty/a-little-bit) I made for your listening pleasure.

Stiles jolted away from the computer screen, his chair toppling backwards as he tried to scramble to his feet.

He swore the desk just vibrated, and it wasn’t from his phone. He knew that for sure because the aforementioned piece of technology had been taken from him upon entering the building. Apparently it was a security risk. Probably they just didn’t trust him, not after the last tech guy they’d hired. Maybe he should have worn that tie after all. 

The vibration started up again. Well, no, the whole room was  _shaking_  now, a steady but subtle motion that had Stiles mind jumping straight into natural disaster preparedness mode. Not that anyone could possibly blame him. He was from California after all, land of quaking earth. And mudslides. And forest fires. 

So what if he’d lived in Philly for nearly 6 months now? That didn’t mean he’d suddenly forgotten 23 years of conditioning. Clearly, considering he was halfway to crawling under his desk when the  _noise_  registered in his head. Construction.

“Oh,” he said stupidly. Aloud to himself in an empty room. A room that was empty because it was a new building and the offices on both floors had yet to be finished. He was here to fix one of the big issues—re-wiring and setting up the computers in each office as needed. Some idiot before him had screwed up royally. “Right. Renovations. Last minute repairs. Shut up now, Stiles.”

Stiles glanced out the window, saw some sweaty old man with a jackhammer tearing up part of the sidewalk right outside. He was on the first floor, so it made sense that the room was pulsing along with the machinery. 

He shook his head and sat back down at the desk, just relieved that no one was around to see his graceless display of self-defense in the face of Mother Nature’s imaginary wrath. There’s nothing quite like freaking out at the sound of construction  _at a construction site._  

Stiles sighed. Life was such a bitch when running on 3 hours of sleep, a Red Bull, and a whole lot of coffee—he’d had three cups already today. The office would probably need a new coffee maker by the time he was through. 

(Alternatively, he could stop playing video games with Scott until 3am on a weeknight, but honestly, there was a better chance of DC making a Wonder Woman movie than that. Besides, he had to get in some Scott time whenever he had the chance. They hardly saw each other anymore.)

The sound cut off after about 30 minutes, plunging the office back into a heavy silence and jolting Stiles out of his work. Everything was wired up and working properly. He’d managed to finish all but one installation on this machine, so he quickly got the process running. 

While he waited, he walked over to the window, surveying the scene outside. It was late, probably the end of the construction workers’ shift, given that the 5 or 6 guys he had seen milling around earlier were now gone, as were the majority of the trucks that had been parked outside. 

Stiles fidgeted, bouncing on the balls of his feet, more than a little bored. This was his dream job, honestly it was. He loved working with computers, and hardware installs were his favorite, so this specific job site wasn’t too bad on that front. But being alone all day long? That  _sucked._  

He couldn’t even play music because _they took his phone_. So it had been himself and his thoughts for the majority of the day, until the construction started. But of the two, silence or construction, he very definitely preferred the silence. 

Stiles pressed his cheek against the glass, staring at the back of some broad-shouldered, dark-haired guy’s head. His eyes wandered up and down his sculpted body, settling on his ass. His jeans were snug in all the right places and then some.

Damn, he was going to go insane before this job was done and it was only the first day. He had at least three more days of work to do here, probably four. The entirety of the upstairs was untouched on the computer front. Nothing was plugged in, no installs had been done, and in some rooms, the computers hadn’t even been set out yet. Not to mention the wireless network needed to be set up and all the computers needed to be connected to it, which was probably going to be another job entirely. The current internet was a pre-paid mobile hotspot that would be shut off by Friday and it was a pain in the fucking ass.

Stiles focused his gaze again, seeking that leather jacket-clad sculpture of a man, a god among men really, and—oh shit, he was looking right at Stiles. Glaring, actually.  

He couldn’t have caught Stiles staring, right? Stiles tried shooting him a disarming smile, his eyes wide. The guy just turned and got into his truck, slamming the door before he sped off. 

Nope, he definitely got caught staring.

Fuck.

 

The next day, Stiles had plans to finish the first floor computer work. He figured, if nothing went horribly wrong, which it probably would just because he’d thought it, he could even get a head start on the second floor.

They took his phone again, telling him it was for security measures only and that he could have it back at any time during the day, so long as he made his calls outdoors. Stiles just nodded, remembering the vague threat to his job he’d been issued the day before when he pressed the issue. Totally not worth it.

He got started right away, plugging in cords systematically, keeping everything neat and orderly as he worked his way around the biggest room on the first floor. It was full of cubicles, each with a computer that needed to be plugged in and run-through a checklist of programs and some tests. 

It was another two hours before the noise started up again. Stiles flinched, banging his head against the desk he was currently under, hard enough to knock his coffee cup to the floor. The handle jabbed into his back as he struggled out from under the desk. Luckily, it was mostly empty, so the spill was nothing serious. He probably had a bruise though.

“Fucking fuck—what the hell are they doing now!?” 

The construction sounds were ten times louder than the day before and seemingly coming from multiple directions. Stiles stalked to the window, but didn’t see anything that could be making  _so much noise._

A loud crash from upstairs drew his attention and he suddenly realized that the workers must have begun finishing the second floor offices. Steady banging echoed through the building on top of noises from various machines that Stiles didn’t think he would recognize even by sight. 

He was going to go insane.

“Cut it out!” he shouted, placing his coffee cup back onto the desk. “Don’t make me come up there!” There was no answer. Of course not.

Stiles tried humming, whistling, singing (but only briefly, when he got truly desperate), clapping, and all kinds of other noise-making techniques to block out the incessant racket as he forced himself through another hour of work. Not a single thing worked, although the whistling was mildly entertaining and he worked his way through most of a Katy Perry album before he got tired of it. 

After that hour, though, he was ready to beat the shit out of someone with their own fucking hammer. Like, Thor-style or some shit. 

He grabbed his coffee cup from where he’d left it, still across the room on a desk, and attempted to focus only on the delicious smell of fresh coffee as he approached the break room.

Unfortunately, life had it out for Stiles, so of course the source of that fresh coffee was none other than Mr. Hot-Ass Glare-You-to-Death and he was definitely living up to the name.

“Hey, did you just make the coffee? I didn’t know anyone else was drinking it. I hope the pot I made earlier was okay. This smells great, by the way,” Stiles said, words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. It was his only defense against the crushing embarrassment of the previous day. “Although almost all coffee smells good to me because I’m usually sleep-deprived and caffeine is my lord and savior. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without it. You know what I mean?”

The guy just stared at him, expression blank for a moment, before he smirked. Stiles was not ashamed to admit that all work-appropriate thoughts of the small talk variety immediately flew out of his brain at the sight of it. Well, he admitted it to himself at least. He wouldn’t tell this guy, not if he wanted to keep on livin’ la vida loca.

“What? Did I spill something on myself again? I might have earlier because I slammed my head into a desk and knocked my coffee cup onto myself and—”

“No,” the guy practically growled, smirking even as he brushed past Stiles and went straight upstairs. 

“Okay then. Nice chat!” he yelled in the direction of the stairwell, knowing the guy couldn’t hear him above the endless banging and whirring and screeching sounds emanating from the second floor. Some freaky shit was going on up there.

Stiles sipped his coffee slowly, a brilliant plan forming in the depths of his mind. He was going to get some peace and quiet today and no one was going to stop him.

 

They wouldn’t know what hit them. (Well, they would—Stiles was going to be the only suspect and he was well aware of that fact. He just didn’t _care_.) He might be a bit on the scrawny side compared to all the manly man construction workers he’d seen around the place, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t fuck shit up. His methods were simply a bit more creative and required stealth, not muscle. 

Stiles poured himself another cup of coffee, added a scoop of sugar and a splash of cream. He had to be careful about this, unless he wanted to lose this job. Which, to be honest, his boss would probably find his entire predicament hilarious and fight to keep him at the job site just to punish him. Laura wasn’t above such means of torture. 

With a glance at the clock, Stiles hurried back to the main computer room to finish a couple more installs before the lunch hour began. Somehow, even with the bone-jarringly loud noises coming from upstairs, he managed to get in the zone and forget himself in his work.

The sound of a few sets of footsteps coming down the stairs brought Stiles out of his own head and back to reality. The noises from upstairs had ceased, leaving the entire building in relative silence, but for the engines starting up outside. 

Stiles waited another five minutes, just to be sure everyone had left the building, before he made his way up to the second floor. It was quiet and a quick glance around revealed that the room was empty. 

Room by room, he began gathering up extension cords, coiling them up neatly on his left arm. He didn’t take them all, just a couple from each room, leaving most of them plugged in and untouched. He didn’t have a death wish, just wanted a little bit of quiet. 

Even so, if they noticed that a bunch of cords were missing, they were going to know it was him. Probably he’d get screamed at by their boss. And some threats would be issued. Some very real, very terrifying threats. Maybe he’d call Laura and try to get him fired. But he wasn’t going to back down, not unless they promised to at least TRY to be quieter. They couldn’t possibly need every single one of their machines on at the same time. It was such a waste of electricity, not to mention bad for the environment. 

Just as Stiles reached the stairwell, he heard a noise behind him. He whipped his head around, coming face to face with his new favorite person...God, was this guy even human? Was he actually _growling_?

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice controlled, like he was barely holding back his anger.

“Nothing. I mean, I noticed...there was something wrong with these extension cords,” Stiles babbled, floundering for a believable explanation and trying hard to channel his inner spy. He’d certainly watched enough James Bond films in his lifetime that he should be able to offer a convincing performance. “Yeah, I figured I’d just come up here and take a look around, make sure nothing was going to start on fire. And these cords here, well, they could have started on fire. I’m not sure how they lasted so long! Don’t you guys ever check for this kind of stuff?”

The guy just stared at him, expression completely blank, like he had down in the break room. 

“Well?” Stiles prompted, not quite able to meet his eyes. Frankly, he was surprised he wasn’t being dragged off somewhere to talk to this guy’s boss. He was going to be in so much trouble. Laura was going to kill him, after she made him suffer through every single private household software install she got in the next month. Maybe he could get this guy to kill him first. 

The guy’s eyebrows rose. Stiles felt like a child about to be scolded. “Those are brand new. Just bought them for this job.”

“ _Oh._ ” So this guy was the boss? That made...so much sense. Stiles saw only one option. It wasn’t ideal, but the only way out was to dig himself in deeper. Maybe this guy would think he was serious. Totally wrong and quite stupid, but serious nonetheless. “In that case, you ought to try getting a refund. These are clearly defective.”

“No, they aren’t. I do “check for this kind of stuff”. Daily,” he said, his expression one of amused disbelief. Or that’s what Stiles was choosing to interpret it as, at least.

“I don’t know. I mean, are you _sure_? Because that’s an awfully big risk. The whole building could go up in flames and we’d all die a horrible death and it would be all your fault.”

Any amusement the guy had been feeling was completely gone now, replaced by a look of pain. He schooled his expression quickly, but Stiles wasn’t stupid. He didn’t know why, but he definitely should not have said what he’d just said. 

He panicked, guilt blossoming in his chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—That was mean. I didn’t mean that. _At all._ And you’re right, I know these are fine. They’re totally great. They probably cost you a shit ton of money because these are top of the line. Oh my god, just call my boss. Get me fired. I deserve it.”

“Okay.” 

Stiles winced. This was not going according to plan.  

“Phone number?” the guy prompted, his cellphone in his hand. 

“Hey! Why do _you_ get to keep your phone?” Stiles exclaimed, only to remember that he should probably shut up and focus on more important things. Like how he was going to explain himself to Laura. He recited the number from memory, staring at his shoes as the guy placed the call.

“Hey, Laura. It’s Derek.”

_What?_ Stiles’ eyes snapped up and he stared intently at Derek. What the fuck was going on? Oh, he was so screwed if they knew each other. 

“I know.” Derek looked guilty, like he felt bad for whatever Laura was saying to him. “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s this idiot on my job site. He works for you, apparently.”

Derek turned to Stiles, glaring at him. “What’s your name?”

“Stiles.”

Derek huffed, a sound almost like a laugh. “Is that even a real name?”

He turned away from Stiles, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, Stiles. That’s right, sis.”

“Laura’s your sister? Jesus Christ, I’m screwed. Oh my god. _Oh my god!”_  

Naturally, Stiles freaked out, and briefly considered running away. Far, far away. Like leaving the country far. Shit, was his passport still valid? Maybe he could get his dad to expedite the renewal process for him...

He knew Laura was going to be upset enough with him to make him work shitty hours or torture him with the worst possible jobs, but this revelation complicated things. Significantly. If Derek wanted to get him fired, Laura would probably do it. She didn’t even like him that much. She made that crystal clear on an almost daily basis.

“I caught him stealing some of our extension cords. He says they’re defective.” Derek sighed. “No! He’s not—shut up! I don’t _care_. He’s _your_ screwup. _You_ deal with him.”

Stiles jumped when a phone was shoved at his face. He stared at it with wide eyes, at a loss for what was happening. This job site fucking sucked. It really, really sucked. First he got caught staring at some hot guy’s ass. A hot guy who was his boss’ brother and could probably kill him with his bare hands. He didn’t want to talk to Laura. He wanted a wormhole to open up beneath him and transport him to another planet. Preferably one not in this universe. Like Vulcan. Or even Tatooine. Anywhere but here.

Derek growled, shaking the phone in Stiles’ face. As if things couldn’t get worse, Stiles dropped the stack of extension cords on the ground in shock and Derek smirked at him. 

“What are you? Some kind of animal? Jesus Christ,” he muttered, grabbing the phone and shoving it up to his ear. “Laura, before you say anything, I am begging you, _please_ don’t fire me! I’ll do _anything_ you want. I’ll work all the private house calls. I’ll man the phones during the night shift. I’ll clean the bathroom. I’ll bring you coffee and breakfast every morning for the rest of my life. _ANYTHING!_ ”

“Shut up, Stiles. I’m not going to fire you. I think it’s funny. Poor Der-Bear, all in a mood over a few extension cords,” Laura said, laughing. “Why’d you do it, anyway?”

Stiles exhaled loudly, relief flooding through him. He shot a glare at Derek, who had his back turned, picking up the cords on the floor. God, those pants should be illegal. “I’m going insane here. It’s so loud. _And_ they took my phone!”

Laura was practically guffawing now. “Stiles, it’s a construction site. It has to be loud. What exactly were you thinking? And don’t you dare think you’re getting away with this. I don’t care what your reasoning was.”

“I don’t—okay, so maybe my logic was flawed. But if you were here, you would understand. The noise confuses your brain. I can’t even think straight anymore. You know what? Maybe I have a concussion from slamming my head into a desk earlier. That actually explains—”

“Oh my god. Stiles. Just put the extension cords back and get your ass back to work. Let me talk to him so I can make sure he doesn’t strangle you,” Laura demanded, and Stiles listened. He didn’t argue with her anymore, had learned the hard way that it was impossible to win. He couldn’t even count the number of night shifts he’d done just to placate her after an argument, even if he didn’t actually put up a fight. Better safe than sorry. Laura was fucking intimidating.

Stiles handed the phone to Derek nicely, with much more civility than Derek had used. When he took it, Stiles stuck his tongue out at him. Derek just gave him the eyebrows again.

“Whatever,” Stiles mumbled and grabbed the extension cords from Derek. 

He set about returning the cords to their proper places. He could hear Derek still talking to Laura as he walked away, the conversation clearly going in a direction Derek didn’t like.

“Laura, I do not think he’s—shut up! I don’t care how old he is. I don’t even—” Derek’s annoyed growling suddenly cut off, his tone growing impossibly darker. “Don't say that fucking name. I won't have this conversation. I’m serious, Laura. Drop it.”

Despite his curiosity being incredibly piqued, Stiles skittered out of the room before he could hear anymore of their conversation. It was private and he shouldn’t have heard what he did. 

It took about ten minutes, but he eventually had all the machinery plugged back in, just in time for lunch break to end. Which meant Stiles would not be eating. He grumbled to himself the whole way down the stairs, but he really only had himself to blame for it. 

Laura was probably right—it was a construction site, so it was going to be loud no matter what Stiles did, but that didn’t make him any less annoyed about the noise. So he threw himself into his work, refusing to be distracted by the occasional voices drifting to him from the break room. He didn’t want to hear them talking about how stupid he was for trying to take their extension cords, as if that would actually make a difference. 

Okay, so not his brightest plan to date.

Laura probably wouldn’t fire him, or else she would have done it already, but just to be safe, Stiles stayed an extra hour that night. Then he went home and made Laura a batch of blueberry muffins. 

Just to be safe.

 


	2. The Oval Office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [[Derek POV]]  
> In which Laura is a super awesome sister, but only sometimes, Derek is grumpier than usual, and Stiles talks a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Talk of grief and the grieving process. It's nothing negative, just a touchy subject sometimes.
> 
> Also, again, the whole construction thing is not my forte. I know a little, but I'm reaching quite a bit, so don't judge it too harshly!

“Laura? You home?” Derek called, struggling to pull his key out of the lock on the front door. He really needed to replace the doorknob one of these days, when he wasn’t working. He’d been so busy lately, the house was falling to pieces around them now.

“Kitchen!” she yelled back, and Derek recognized the scent of Mom’s “Oval Office” lasagna recipe baking in the oven. They’d always referred to the meal as The Oval Office whenever they had lasagna night. Derek never did find out why she called it that.

“What’s that look for?” Laura questioned, patting Derek hard on the back as he walked passed her to the fridge. 

Derek shrugged, pouring himself a glass of milk. “What look?”

Laura’s eyebrows shot up. He knew he wasn’t going to get out of having this conversation. He’d been dreading it for half the day, playing it out in his head a thousand times, each scenario ending with the same damn argument they’d had at least once a month for the last 7 years. 

“I have no idea what you’re referring to, Laura,” Derek said, trying for casual as he leaned against the counter sipping his milk. “How’s Jordan?”

“He’s great, thanks. I need to talk to you about that, actually, but it can wait. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do, Der. We’re having this conversation whether you like it or not.”

Laura moved around the kitchen, setting plates and utensils on the island for the two of them. “I know you better than you think, okay? I’m just trying to help you, Derek, because I know you’ve given up on doing that yourself.”

Derek growled, but didn’t say a word. If Laura wanted to lecture him on the necessity of dating again, of moving on with his life and getting over his past mistakes, she could. But he wasn’t going to change his stance on the subject. He wasn’t ready, didn’t want to be. Nothing in the world was worth the pain his last relationship had brought to his and Laura’s lives.

“What happened with Ka— _her_? That wasn’t your fault. I’ve told you so many times. It was not your fault. She has so many mental health issues—that’s why she’s getting treatment, to get better—and none of them have a fucking thing to do with you.”

Laura sighed when Derek still didn’t respond, keeping his eyes downcast to avoid feeling the pressure to answer. He couldn’t tell her what she wanted to hear because he didn’t know what she wanted him to say. This conversation was taking a turn into territory that neither of them broached very often, mainly because Derek couldn’t bring himself to take seriously what Laura was saying to him. It was so hard to turn her words into his thoughts—he’d been trying to for years without any luck.

She shooed him away from the oven just as it beeped, retrieving The Oval Office and replacing it with garlic bread. Derek plopped down in a chair at the island, fiddling with the silverware in front of him. He glanced up when Laura cleared her throat. 

“Don’t you see what’s happening here? She’s still in your head, Der. Until you stop hating yourself for the fire, she’s got you. I can see how hard this is for you, I’m not trying to judge you for grieving, honey.”

His heart clenched at the term of endearment. It wasn’t that he and Laura weren’t affectionate with each other, not exactly, but they were usually much more “tough love” than anything else. It did something weird to his head to have her treat him so lightly, like she needed to be careful of breaking him. He didn’t need to tell her that he was already too broken for her to do anymore damage. 

“Laura,” Derek warned, trying to stop her from continuing. He felt uncomfortable, like she was digging around inside his head. Like her words were actually making sense. It terrified him and he was sure she could see the fear on his face.

“I _want_ you to grieve. I want you to let go of the guilt and grieve for the loss of so many important people in your life, including yourself, your innocence. You’re holding yourself back from that process, I can see it every day. You won’t let yourself grieve because you don’t think you deserve to heal.”

Derek let out a shaky breath, trying to release the tension in his clenched fists. Laura grabbed his face and their eyes met, hers a little watery. Derek’s probably were too, but he didn’t let himself care as Laura pulled him into a tight hug. 

“It wasn’t your fault, sweetie. It wasn’t. No one blames you,” she whispered into his hair, one hand rubbing his back and the other cradling his head like a child’s. 

_How could they? They’re all dead._ Derek bit back his response, for the first time allowing himself to trust that Laura might be right. He let the truth of her words resonate inside his head, let it weave into his thoughts. 

Leaning into her embrace, his eyes closed, Derek finally felt like he’d breached the walls he’d built in his head and around his heart. It sounded stupid, but he swore he could _feel_ the topmost layers of guilt and pain rushing from his body as he breathed against Laura’s shoulder. 

He was so incredibly lucky to have her. He really needed to do better by her. 

The oven timer beeped again, startling both of them out of whatever daze they’d been in. Derek offered Laura a small smile and she returned the gesture with a grin of her own. 

Derek got the bread from the oven as Laura shoveled lasagna onto both their plates, not bothering to ask how much he wanted. Likewise, he tossed a couple scalding pieces of bread on both of their plates without a word.

“Not to completely change the subject, but I do need to talk to you about something else. It’s kind of huge. You aren’t going to like it,” Laura said as they began to eat, clearly avoiding looking at Derek.

Derek huffed a quiet laugh. “You aren’t pregnant, are you?”

“No! Oh my god, absolutely not. Wait—you wouldn’t like it if I was pregnant?”

Derek reached over and whacked her on the head. “Not really, but only because I know you don’t want kids yet.”

“Oh, nice save, lil’ bro,” Laura said, laughing. “No, it’s actually about me and Jordan. He asked me to move in with him.”

Derek set his fork down and stared at Laura. So many emotions coursed through him that he didn’t know what to say for a few moments. She could probably read it all on his face anyways. 

It wasn’t the idea of her leaving that really got to him. It was being alone in this damn house. He’d go absolutely crazy with an entire house to himself. He’d have to move, not that he couldn’t afford this place on his own. But maybe an apartment building would be okay. 

“I—well, okay. How soon?” he asked, forcing his voice to be flat.

Laura sighed and rested her hand on Derek’s arm. “Hey, don’t be like that. I don’t want to move out, you know. I like living with you, Der. But I think it’s time, you know? Me and Jordan have been together for almost 4 years now. Besides, it isn’t that bad. I told him I would move in with him, but not into his place permanently. We’ve been looking at houses. There’s one in the neighborhood actually.”

“Yeah?” Derek said, trying to smile for her sake. He was glad for her, he really was. Jordan was a great guy, had passed all of Derek’s tests (most of which consisted of Derek being downright aggressive or extremely rude and not at all personable just to get a reaction), and he loved Laura. Not that Derek was a love expert by any means, but even he could see how Jordan felt about her. 

“It needs a little work. A lot actually. But you know, my brother owns a construction company,” she said, smirking. 

“Oh, does he now?” A thought dawned on him, all humor leaving his mind in an instant. This was hardly a situation anyone would have anticipated him “not liking”. There had to be a hell of a lot more to it if Laura expected him to be upset. “Laura, what aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s about the house,” she started, sounding nervous. “Derek, don’t freak out. It’s our old house. I kind of already got in touch with the bank about buying the property.”

Derek pushed his chair back, the wooden legs scraping audibly against the floor. There was no way he was setting foot in that house again, especially not to fucking fix it up. That house was nowhere near being on the list of approved conversation topics, let alone potential jobs, or potential _homes_ for that matter. 

He couldn’t believe Laura was asking this of him.

Even if she got someone else to do the reno, Derek knew he couldn’t set foot in that house. He wasn’t ready and he probably never would be. Laura of all people should know and respect that.

“No. No, absolutely not,” he growled, dropping his dishes in the sink and moving towards the stairs. He wasn’t going to have this conversation with her because he knew there wasn’t a single thing in the world that would change his mind. That house was Derek’s line in the sand, and everything about Laura’s suggestion was well beyond his ability to cope. 

“Der, don’t do this. Please don’t run from this,” Laura pleaded, but Derek didn’t process a word she said. His head was buzzing with anger and guilt, betrayal and longing, and so many other emotions that he just...couldn’t do it anymore. He had to get away.

He turned and bolted up the stairs to his room, managing to slam his door in the process, and he didn’t come out until well after Laura had left for work the next morning.

 

Derek woke to the sound of his work phone ringing on his bedside table. He dug out of his blankets with more savagery than was necessary, wanting nothing more than to stay in bed all day and maybe for part of the next as well. He answered the call, preparing to rip someone’s head off for waking him up. They all knew better than to call him in the morning, or so he thought. 

“What?” he snarled, with even less professionalism than he normally managed.

“Hale?” It was Boyd, Derek’s right-hand man. He was unfazed as usual, by now so used to Derek’s many sour moods that he’d stopped being cautious with him.

“Obviously.”

Boyd deflected the hostility with practiced ease. “Sorry, man. Just wondering where you’re at. You coming in today?”

Derek pulled the phone away from his ear to check the time. It was a little past 10 o’clock. Well fuck, he was seriously late. It was lucky that Boyd was so even-tempered. 

Derek really didn’t know what he’d do without him. He was probably the only reason Derek managed to win any bids. Well, no, that wasn’t entirely true. Erica was responsible for a good deal of their success as well. She had a real talent for bidding jobs. It was a good thing, too, because when potential customers had to deal with Derek, they tended to give their work to someone else. 

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. It was about time he pulled himself together and got to work. He’d had enough time to wallow in his misery for today (enough for the week really). Any more and he’d have to admit to himself that he was still a complete fucking wreck over something that happened 7 years ago. 

“Shit, yeah. I’ll be in.”

Boyd tried to stifle a laugh. “Late night?” 

“Not exactly. I’ll be there soon. You can take off if you want, go check the Fisher Elementary job.”

“Right. Okay, boss,” Boyd agreed, then hung up. 

Derek physically shook himself, trying and failing to dislodge the lingering cloud of dark thoughts from his mind. Today was going to be long and he knew he was going to piss more than a few people off before it was through. He _almost_ felt bad, but then, they chose to work for him knowing he was without a doubt the least friendly person in the entire city of Philadelphia. 

He rushed through his morning routine, skipping breakfast in favor of a shower, and made it to work an hour later. As he walked into the building, on his way to the break room for coffee, he caught sight of Stiles startling at the sound of someone upstairs using an impact driver. 

Derek smirked, the memory of the first time he’d seen Stiles fresh in his mind. He’d panicked at the sound of a jackhammer outside, as if he’d somehow forgotten he was on a construction site. Derek had laughed at him, but he was kind of ridiculously intrigued by the way Stiles seemed to brush off the incident with ease, picking himself up and going back to work like he hadn’t a care in the world. Life goes on, right? 

Derek still had more trouble with that concept than he cared to admit.

Then Stiles had turned out to be stupidly charming, all good intentions and awkward as hell, only a little bit annoying, and Derek couldn’t help himself. He approached Stiles, who was underneath a desk on his back, plaid shirt riding up obscenely far, apparently connecting cables or something of that nature. Derek didn’t really know, just assumed the guy had a good reason for being on the floor like that. 

He nudged Stiles’ leg with his boot and stepped back, anticipating a good deal of flailing. What he didn’t expect was for Stiles to yelp and smack his head into the desk. How the fuck many times was he going to do that on this job?

“Jesus. What the fuck?” he grumbled, sliding out from under the desk and getting to his feet. “Oh, Derek. Hi, sorry. Uh, what? Do you need something?”

“Figured you might want these,” Derek explained, handing over his noise-canceling ear muffs. He had another set upstairs that would work just as well. 

A wide grin split Stiles’ face, and Derek tried really hard not to notice the way that joy overtook his entire demeanor. “Really? I figured you’d be plotting my death by now, shouldn’t be too hard with some of that plastic I saw upstairs. Wait, I mean, thank you? This is really nice of you.”

Derek shrugged and headed for the break room, Stiles trailing after him, jabbering the entire time. 

“So, Laura’s your sister. I didn’t see that one coming. Does she hurt your feelings a lot? Because she makes me feel like a child being scolded. All the damn time. She’s constantly on me about looking more professional and getting a life outside of work. Which, those two things seem contrary to each other, don’t they?” 

Stiles paused, glancing at Derek expectantly. He just nodded, not sure what he was meant to say. The gesture was apparently good enough for Stiles, because he plowed on as he set the coffee maker to brew a fresh pot.

“Do you know Lydia? She works with your sister. I’m not going to lie, I kind of thought they had a thing for each other for a while, until I found out about Jordan, that is. He’s cool, works with my dad actually,” Stiles started, moving around the room to grab cups and spoons. Derek didn’t bother interrupting to tell him he didn’t need a spoon for black coffee.

“But before I knew about the Jordan situation, there was this one time, they were arguing—and believe me, that’s a terrifying experience, like there’s a hurricane blowing through and you’re standing on the damn beach watching the first wave come in like an idiot,” he paused, shooting a smile at Derek.

He raised his eyebrows, but didn’t comment. Anything he said was liable to scare Stiles away and he wasn’t quite ready to let that happen.

“I don’t recommend it. So Laura had Lydia cornered in her office and I swear to you, I thought they were going to kiss. The sexual tension was _insane_ ,” he went on, his melodic voice somehow easing a bit of the tightness in Derek’s chest leftover from the previous night. Not that the subject of his sister’s entirely feasible sexual ventures was all that pleasant to him, but he wasn’t really listening to the words. Just his voice.

“They didn’t. Kiss, I mean. At least, not before I ran away. Anyway, me and Lydia went to high school together. I was a little bit in love with her. I’m talking since the seventh grade. She looked right passed me in science class and I was in love. She didn’t find out I existed until junior year when Scott started dating her BFF Allison. Oh, Scott’s _my_ BFF, by the way.” 

Hearing the word “BFF” spoken so casually, like it was a completely acceptable word in Stiles’ personal dictionary, had Derek’s eyebrows jumping up in disbelief. How the hell old was this guy? Twelve?

“Your _BFF_?” he questioned, grabbing the coffee pot and pouring some in both mugs, leaving room for cream in the one closest to Stiles. 

Stiles nodded and reached for the cup, clearly not finding anything amiss with the word. “We barely spoke to each other, but I was so fucking in love with her. I bought her a TV once. A flat screen TV. Can you even handle that? Now we’re friends, as much as any man can be friends with Lydia Martin. She’s the queen of this Earth and she makes damn sure you know it.”

Derek leaned against the countertop, sipping at his too-hot coffee, too tired to care that it was scalding the taste buds off his tongue. He watched Stiles, who barely stopped his near-monologue long enough to take a breath as he prepared his own coffee.

“Dude, can I just apologize again for yesterday? I shouldn’t have tried stealing your stuff. Not that I wasn’t going to give it back eventually, but I shouldn’t have taken it in the first place. It was a shitty thing to do and it made no sense. More than that, I wanted to say sorry for that thing I said about the building starting on fire...I did not mean that.”

Derek tensed and looked away, an involuntary response to the word ‘fire’ that he’d been trying and failing miserably to quell for years. He didn’t let himself look at Stiles, afraid of what he’d see written across his face. The last thing he wanted was pity, especially from a near-stranger. He’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.  

Stiles sighed and Derek’s eyes reflexively tracked him as he crossed the room to stand facing Derek. “I’m not just saying this now that I know who you are—shit, that sounds bad. Just _please_ believe me when I say I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said it. I know it must be a touchy subject for you and— _oh my god_ , I’m such a mess, just knock me out if you have to, it’s the only way to stop my mouth.”

“It’s fine,” Derek reassured him, and the way Stiles’ expression brightened made the corners of Derek’s mouth twitch up. He just shook his head when Stiles cheered triumphantly. 

“Okay, on that delightfully positive note, I need to get back to work. Thanks again for the headphones,” he chimed, inching towards the door. “Or whatever they’re called.”

Derek remained rooted to the spot for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. Not a second of it made sense to him. He ended up stalking up the steps with that stupid half-smile on his face, trying to muster up the nerve to call Laura and apologize while he was still in a good mood. 

 

The day passed slowly and with far fewer difficulties than he had expected. He wasn’t about to admit to himself that his Stiles-borne serenity played a big part in the day progressing so smoothly. Absolutely not. 

Even his phone call with Laura had gone well—not a single threat was issued, other than the usual “put the past to rest and live your life, or else” lecture. They even planned another dinner date, this time with Jordan, to discuss plans for the house. Not that Derek agreed to do the construction himself, or to have any part in it at all for that matter.

He gave up trying to focus around 4 o’clock and sent everyone home an hour early. They were ahead of schedule, so forfeiting one hour’s work didn’t matter much. He was halfway home before he realized he’d left the second floor electricity switched on. 

“Fuck,” he growled under his breath, and pulled off to the side of the road to text Laura and let her know he’d be late to dinner. 

Her response came back seconds later. **No, call stiles. 916-555-0164**

He wasn’t sure how that was supposed to work, considering Stiles had complained about his phone being confiscated upon entering the building every day. Derek was about to reply with that exact concern when his phone chimed with another message from Laura:

**> > He’ll call back before he leaves. Don’t worry**

**> > Now get your ass home!!!**

Derek ignored her and shot Stiles a quick text instead. **Call before you leave work.**

After a pause, he sent a second message. **It’s Derek, by the way.**

 

By the time Derek got home, Laura had dinner ready and was sprawled across Jordan on the couch, neither of them paying attention to the news blaring on TV. 

He kept his phone is his pocket all evening, checking multiple times for a reply from Stiles. There was something exciting about the entire thing that Derek refused to consider. He only cared because he was worried about shit starting on fire. That was the only reason he still had his phone in his hand when Stiles finally responded, well after Jordan had gone home and Laura had retreated to her bedroom. 

**> > Worried about my safety? **

**> > I promise I know how to defend myself.**

Derek stared at the screen, torn between incredulity and a sickening feeling, like laughter trying to bubble its way up his throat. This guy was going to be the death of him. 

**< < No, I don’t care if you get mugged.**

**< < I need you to shut off electricity on the second floor.**

He waited a moment, pacing around the kitchen. Maybe he should just call him to speed things up. He wasn’t sure if Stiles actually knew how to do what he was asking. Although, his job implied that he had at least a cursory knowledge of how electricity worked. Hopefully.

His phone rang, taking the decision out of his hands. 

“Yeah?” 

“Where’s the electrical panel is this place?” There was a loud crash, presumably Stiles tripping over something.

“The closet in the break room.”

Derek leaned against the counter, resting his elbows on the marble countertop. He hung his head, waiting silently for Stiles to get to the closet.

“Got it. Is this going to be difficult? It had better be labeled. I’ll do it myself if I have to.”

“Open the fucking door and find out,” Derek barked, shoving himself away from the counter. This shouldn’t be such a frustrating situation—it wasn’t, really. He just, well, he didn’t have an explanation for his sudden shift in mood. None whatsoever.

Stiles remained calm despite Derek’s bitchiness, as Laura liked to call it. “Dude, chill out. I got it. Okay, there. Power is off!”

“Thanks,” Derek grunted and hung up before Stiles could get another word in.

It wasn’t more than ten seconds before he got a barrage of text messages from Stiles.

**> > Anytime, dude. :)**

**> > PS. Usually people say goodbye before they hang up the phone.**

**> > Were you raised by wolves? :P**

Derek ignored him, instead getting ready for bed. When he went to set his alarm, he groaned. There were 4 new texts from Stiles. Apparently, giving the guy his phone number, however work-related the circumstances had been, was synonymous with asking for his hand in friendship.

**> > Wait, is this going to be like talking to you?**

**> > Where I talk and you just stand there making faces.**

**> > Do you want me to leave you alone?**

**> > Sorry you really do have to tell me when to shut up!**

Derek huffed, but sent back a quick response before tossing the phone onto his nightstand. 

**< < No, it’s fine.**


	3. The Cookie Correlation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [[ Stiles POV ]]
> 
> A week later, Stiles' has a late night, and in the morning, he (mostly) avoids dealing with the repercussions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: There's some description of alcohol-induced vomiting, it's not too graphic, but if that kind of thing bothers you for any reason, beware the section between the dashes. 
> 
> I just don't know how I feel about this chapter...I had such a hard time writing it and I just...ugh. I hope it's not too horrible! (Okay, I'll stop whining now)
> 
> As for the texts, the arrows pointing IN are to Stiles, and arrows OUT are to Derek. (It's the opposite in Derek POV.) I hope that's not too confusing?
> 
> Totally unimportant side note: In writing this chapter, I discovered that biweekly can mean every two weeks or twice a week (bimonthly and biyearly have the same problem) and I am just so angry about it! I feel like those words are useless now... My whole life is a lie. ):

Thursdays were Stiles’ favorite. He would like to chalk it up to the fact that the anticipation of Friday was often better than the actual thing, but in reality, it was a much less philosophical reason. Nope, it had everything to with Thursday being “Bros Night Out”.

Of course, Bros Night had evolved exponentially since Scott and Stiles’ Thirsty Thursday practice during college. For starters, there was significantly less throwing up into the wee hours of the morning and sleeping in so late on Friday that friends got worried.

And these days, Allison always tagged along from the start of things. Which was awesome because Stiles was no longer under the impression that he and Scott were going out together for some best friend bonding time, only to lose Scott to Allison’s dastardly devices within the first five minutes of every party they had ever gone to. Not that Stiles blamed him (or Allison, for that matter). It just sucked to have to share Scott. 

On the best of the best Thursdays, the ones that Stiles got much too excited for, Lydia came out with them. He would never say so out loud, but Lydia Martin was the best wingman Stiles had ever had. It wasn’t because of his once massive crush on her—that was such a thing of the past that their friends joked about it less than once a day now. She was just preternaturally adept at helping Stiles hookup (although there was no guarantee of the quality of said hookup). 

Her usual method was to keep Stiles’ mouth shut for long enough to get the lucky lad or lady interested in him. The process often involved copious amounts of exaggeration or straight up lies, while Stiles did his best to act the part (which he had gotten very good at, thank you very much). The current list of Stiles’ attributes that Lydia deemed unfit for promoting his sexual appeal included his profession, financial status, sex life, maturity level, hobbies, attitude, and about five thousand other things that Stiles didn’t care to remember. 

Tonight, he and Lydia (mainly Lydia on his behalf), were chatting up a guy at the bar. As usual, she had chosen his prospective, temporary mate for him, a blond-haired college student who probably wasn’t even 21 yet. He was drinking steadily as they talked, so maybe he was older than he looked, or else he had a great fake ID. He was pretty fucking sturdy, too, but Stiles somehow wasn’t totally into him. Nothing a few more beers wouldn’t change.

He was throwing back his fifth beer of the evening when Lydia’s story started to get interesting. She shot him a piteous look, which he took as his cue to look heartbroken. “His boyfriend broke up with him when he got promoted to VP at our company.” 

The guy, whose name Stiles already couldn’t remember, looked at him earnestly. “That’s _terrible_.”

“It was him or the job, you know? Maybe I fucked up,” Stiles mumbled, staring into the crowd of dancing drunken people longingly. Unfortunately, he didn’t have to reach very far to fake that feeling. 

“Honey, he didn’t appreciate your money, he didn’t deserve your time,” Lydia shot back, settling a hand on Stiles’ chest. 

Stiles flicked his eyes to the blond in front of him, watched the way his gaze focused and unfocused on Lydia’s hand. Of course this was working. It always did. Stiles leaned away from Lydia to set his empty glass on the bar top. It was replaced with another within moments. 

“You have fun and enjoy yourself tonight, hon.” With a bright smile, Lydia patted Stiles on the cheek and left in a whirlwind of delightfully flowing strawberry blond hair. 

“Oh, I think I can manage that,” Stiles confided, settling his gaze on the guy in front of him and smirking. He tossed back the rest of his beer before grabbing the guy’s hand and leading him to the dance floor. 

“Is this okay?” he questioned belatedly, raising his voice to be heard above the music as they waded into the crowd of sweaty bodies. There was nothing like sweat, alcohol, and some absolutely pounding bass to get him in the mood real fucking quick. He knew the look on his face said as much.

He got a wicked smile in return, right before the song changed and the dance floor went wild. One second they were standing there undressing each other with their eyes and the next, the guy, (who Stiles had taken to mentally calling Steve for reasons completely unrelated to a certain Super Soldier) had his hands twisted in Stiles’ hair and their bodies crushed tight together. 

It took Stiles a moment to catch up, his last two glasses of beer hitting him like a truck. Steve yanked hard on Stiles’ hair, smashing their lips together hungrily, and Stiles mentally shook himself to get his focus back. He was supposed to be enjoying this, after all.

There was a moment of awkwardness, likely due to Stiles’ ineptness at keeping any sort of rhythm, but Steve was clearly too drunk to care about anything other than shoving his tongue in Stiles’ mouth. Stiles rolled with it, giving Steve creative license to do whatever the hell he wanted with his tongue. He threw his arms around Steve’s too-broad shoulders and tried his damnedest to let himself drown in the moment. 

It wasn’t about kissing or dancing or even fucking for Stiles, not really. What he craved was the intimacy of it all, the feeling of connectedness when his body was flush against someone else’s. He longed for the press of skin to skin, the complete detachment from reality that sex allowed, and yeah, he wished it meant something, but he clearly wasn’t the dating type in anyone’s eyes. 

Even though it was just meaningless sex, it filled some of the emptiness inside him for a little while, so he let Steve tug too hard on his hair and ignored how sloppy the kiss was becoming as they lost themselves to the energy of the dance floor.

 

**\--------------------------------------**

They were _five minutes_ —five fucking tiny minutes from Stiles’ currently empty house when Steve moaned, his head falling against the window of Stiles’ Jeep. His eyes snapped to the passenger seat at the sudden noise, just in time to watch as Steve’s head lolled forward and he puked all over the floor. 

Without a second thought, Stiles’ signaled to the right and pulled over, coming to a stop much more quickly than he should have given Steve’s compromised condition. The guy heaved again, this time managing to coat the seat in vomit, too. 

Gagging, Stiles reached over to pat him on the back, doing his best not to look at the disgusting mess that was his passenger seat.

“It’s okay, just try to breathe, alright?” Stiles said, keeping his as voice even as possible given his involuntary instinct to throw up at the sour odor that had taken over the car’s interior. “Do you want some water?”

After a pause, Steve shook his head. Sighing, Stiles reached into the guy’s pocket and fished out his phone, glad when it didn’t even have a security lock of any sort. 

“Who can I text for you? To get you home.”

“Megan,” he mumbled, right before another wave of nausea overtook him and he spewed all down his shirt front. 

Stiles pulled his shirt collar up over his nose, stifling his own urge to throw up. “Great. Lemme just text her.” 

**> > Hey, Megs. This is Stiles, a concerned citizen. I’ve got a very drunk friend of yours here.**

About 10 seconds later, just as Stiles finished rolling down his window, the phone in his hand began to buzz. 

The voice on the other end was shrill with panic. “Oh my god, Devon? Is he OK?”

Stiles didn’t laugh at the entire fucked up situation. It was a difficult feat, but he didn’t let himself so much as giggle as he glanced at the puke-covered guy beside him. “He’s throwing up, but he’ll be alright. Can you tell me where I’m bringing him?”

“UPenn. Our dorm is Kings Court. It’s on Sansom St. I’ll meet you outside?” she asked, her voice far less piercing now that she had calmed down.

Well, at least Stiles knew his instincts were still spot-fucking-on. He’d been totally right with his guess that Steve—Devon, whatever—was a fucking college student. Of course he was. _Of course_ this was Stiles’ life. 

He probably should have been more embarrassed than he was that he’d been less than 5 minutes from hooking up with a desperate frat boy. Clearly, Stiles had whatever the opposite of class was. Luckily, with the remnants of a few glasses of beer and a whole lot of dance-fueled adrenaline still thrumming through his system, he wasn’t capable of feeling like shit about himself quite yet. Those feelings would keep until the next day when reality came crashing down on him in the form of a puke-y car and and yet another humiliatingly awkward sex story to share with his friends. 

He should probably stop letting Lydia choose his hookups for him. He wasn’t really the hookup type to begin with, so why he ever expected casual sex to go well for him was a mystery even the universe didn’t know the answer to.

“Sure, that works. It’ll be maybe 15 minutes.” He hung up before she could respond.

Stiles sighed, put the car in drive, and headed for UPenn. It was lucky that he’d worked there before because navigating the streets of Philly at night while slightly drunk was not an easy task even when he knew where he was going.

Devon groaned, breathing quickly as he slumped over himself in the too-small space. Stiles settled a hand on his back for comfort, feeling bad for him despite that fact that the guy brought this entire situation on himself. Stiles had been there, many times before...although not with a stranger he’d met at a bar. Usually it was Scott and they were both sick and laughing at each other. That was real friendship.

When they reached Kings Court, Stiles climbed out of the Jeep to assist Devon in making his way inside. It was awkward and slow because Devon was heavy and Stiles was feeling wobbly. Even worse, the whole ordeal was excruciatingly disgusting because now Stiles shirt and hands were puke-covered too. Gross. 

He shot a knowing smile at Megan and handed her Devon’s phone. She snapped a thank you and slammed the door in his face. 

“Cool,” Stiles chimed, feeling a bit of that impending embarrassment creeping up his neck as he climbed into the Jeep and, sans napkin, wiped his hands off on his shirt. So gross.

**\-------------------------------------**

 

A half hour later, Stiles was splayed across his bed, staring at the phone in his hand. This was not how the night was supposed to go. He considered calling Scott, but he was 100% definitely getting it on with Allison and if he answered the phone (he would), Allison was going to kill Stiles the next time she saw him. Which would likely be Friday night at their biweekly dinner, or sooner given Stiles’ luck, and he wasn’t ready to die. He didn’t even get to see The Winter Soldier yet.

Stiles sat up abruptly and pulled a bottle of vodka out from under his bed. With a sheriff for a father, hiding any and all potential contraband was an instinct that was ingrained in Stiles from a young age. Even now that he was legally allowed to drink, he still hid his alcohol under his bed. (His dad was well aware of this information and had been for many years). Some habits died hard apparently. 

He took a couple quick sips straight from the bottle, cringing at the combination of taste and sensation that was unique to vodka. By this point in his life, he’d thrown up a few too many times at the hands of hard liquor shots to not feel queasy as soon as the liquid hit his tongue. 

_More_ drinking was probably not his best decision to date, but given that the alternative was keeping himself up all night wondering at the state of his life, it would have to do. 

He took another swig and pulled up his texting thread with Derek.

**< < Hey awkward request here**

He wasn’t sure if Derek would respond, given that it was a Thursday night and they hadn’t seen each other for a whole week (not to mention Derek was probably just humoring him when they’d talked at work). Stiles knew how annoying he could be, knew that a lot of his co-workers and probably some of his “friends” just pretended to like him. He didn’t kid himself, but he also didn’t beat himself up over it either. 

He talked a lot. He always had. If anyone had a problem with it, they could build a bridge from rotting driftwood and fall through it. It would be pretty cool if Derek turned out to NOT be one of those people, but life rarely gave Stiles what he wanted. 

To his very real surprise, Derek’s answer came back only moments later. Stiles had to pause and compose himself before he could even try opening the message to reply.

**> > ITS 3 AM**

**< < Sooo? You’re up**

**< < Wait is that my fault**

**> > No.**

Stiles laughed, not sure what he was expecting. Derek was hardly a conversationalist in person during daylight hours—the odds of him responding _via text_ in such a way that allowed interpretation were microscopic. He decided to jump right to his initial purpose in texting the man. No need to piss him off by delaying the inevitable.

**< < Are you still working on 15** ** th** **St?**

**> > Yes. Why?**

**< < Ok where do you live?**

**< < Not a stalker I promise**

**> > Why?**

He rolled his eyes, trying not to let a smile stretch across his face. Thoughts of his Jeep, reeking of puke and probably irreversibly stained, quickly did the job for him. His poor baby. She deserved so much better.

**< < I need a ride to work tomorrowww :(**

**< < But only if its not out of your way**

**< < Pleeeeease I’ll pay you**

**> > Not interested in your money.**

Stiles let out a frustrated laugh. Derek Hale was the single most difficult human being Stiles had ever dealt with in his entire life. He gave Stiles absolutely nothing, made him work to keep the conversation alive, and for some reason, Stiles enjoyed it. 

All he wanted was a small favor, but with less than ten words, Derek made him guilty for even asking. Considering Stiles had attempted to steal from him and sabotage his work site, he probably already felt that Stiles’ owed him something. Asking for a favor was pushing it. 

In that case, Stiles would have to make it up to Derek somehow.

**< < What about baked goods as repayment?**

**> > What’s wrong with your Jeep?**

**< < She’s in quarantine**

**> > Your car is sick?**

**< < Not exactly but there is something sick in my car...**

Stiles had to stifle a gag at the very thought of Derek’s next suggestion. **Clean it then.**

**< < No too tired**

**> > More like too drunk.**

Shame washed over Stiles, and he swallowed down a completely different sickening feeling. He didn’t want to tell Derek about how he’d almost hooked up with a wasted college kid tonight. There were so many things wrong with the situation that Stiles was glad it hadn’t worked out. He opted for a playful response, not wanting to subject himself to questions that he knew he would answer if Derek asked. (Not that Derek would even ask.)

**< < How can you even tell?? Screw you Derek**

**> > No thanks.**

**< < Omg please just help me out**

**< < Come on! You won’t have to deal with me ever again after this!**

**> > I don’t see how that’s a compelling argument.**

The words stung, more than they should have coming from Derek. Stiles didn’t know him very well, but he didn’t think Derek intended for the text to be taken seriously. Even so, it still hurt his fragile self-confidence. 

Stiles rolled onto his stomach, batting away the negative thoughts rolling through his mind. They’d be back eventually, but for now, Stiles was tipsy enough to be thinking only of bed time and his plans for carefully cultivating a friendship with Derek Hale. 

**< < Dude just say yes so I can stop bugging you**

**> > Fine. **

**> > Be ready by 8.**

**< < THANK YOU DEREKKK YOU’RE DA BEST**

Beaming, Stiles quickly set an alarm on his phone and tossed it aside. He fell asleep wondering if maybe, just maybe, Derek wanted to be his friend to. 

 

 

When morning rolled around, Stiles regretted each and every moment of the previous night up to, but not including his decision to ask Derek for a ride to work. That was a stroke of genius on his part. 

He showered and basically inhaled a cup of coffee before Derek arrived, exactly at 8 o’clock. Neither the shower nor the caffeine made Stiles feel any more alive, but he put on his best “I do not under any circumstances have a hangover right now” smile and slid into the passenger side of Derek’s truck. 

“Good morning!” he chirped, employing his usual means of hangover defense—pretend you feel completely normal (and later imbibe copious amounts of caffeine and sugar to encourage legitimate normalcy). 

Derek’s eyebrows rose and he leveled such a dark look at Stiles that the smile slipped right off his face. 

“Uhm, sorry. I’ll just...be quiet then,” he mumbled, turning away in favor of staring out the side window. 

He assumed Derek was angry with him, or at least frustrated about needing to drive Stiles to work. Which, Stiles felt bad about because he didn’t like to inconvenience anyone, let alone a near stranger, but he would have helped Derek out if their situations were reversed. It didn’t seem like any of that would matter to Derek, so Stiles kept his mouth shut.

He definitely should have made the cookies then. He decided he would do it that night and have Laura deliver them to Derek the next time she saw him. Actually, he’d have to make two batches because what kind of person would he be if he didn’t give Laura any cookies she could keep?  

They reached the job site in less than ten minutes, all of which were uncomfortably silent but for the radio quietly playing rap music. Stiles didn’t know what to make of that—maybe Derek didn’t realize it was on? Because there was no world in which Derek was the kind of person who liked rap, was there? Stiles liked rap and pop, the mainstream stuff anyway, so Derek probably didn’t. 

Just by a simple correlation, the more Stiles liked something, the less likely Derek was to enjoy it. Such as, Stiles liked to go to work dressed as if he didn’t have a college degree and Derek walked into a construction site wearing a fucking leather jacket and $150 jeans that made his ass look so statuesque that Stiles wondered if it was actually carved by the hand of God himself. The point was, they were very different people. 

A disturbing thought crossed Stiles mind.

“Do you even _like_ cookies?” he blurted, whirling around to stare at Derek. After all, it was an important question that spoke volumes about a person’s character.

Derek stopped short, his only option lest he collide with Stiles. His face was contorted in a look of sheer bewilderment. 

“ _What?_ ”

“Do you, Derek Hale, like cookies?” Stiles repeated slowly, meeting Derek’s eyes and refusing to look away until he got an answer, no matter how much higher those eyebrows climbed. 

“No,” Derek said, his expression unreadable. “They’re disgusting.”

“Are you fucking with me? You have got to be joking right now. There is no way that there isn’t a single kind of cookie on this planet that you like. Was that a double negative? I think it was. Back to the real issue here. How can you go so far as to claim cookies are _disgusting_? I just cannot fathom how—”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupted, waving a hand in Stiles’ face. “Shut up.”

The biggest (probably dorkiest) smile spread across Stiles’ face. He couldn’t help it. Derek was totally messing with him. It wouldn’t be the last time Stiles fell for it, either. It _had_ to mean their weird friendship thing had potential. So long as Derek actually liked cookies and Stiles didn’t mess it all up.

“You were joking though, right?”

“Yeah, I was.”

Stiles patted him on the cheek, not even thinking about it. The look Derek gave him was somewhere between annoyance and shock. Stiles semi-successfully choked back a laugh and escaped to the break room before Derek could react fully.

Of course, the reprieve lasted less than 10 seconds because Derek followed him into the other room. Right. He probably wanted coffee, too, considering Stiles had kept him awake until 3:30 in the morning.

Stiles proceeded to start the coffee. He avoided looking at Derek as he crossed the room to get mugs and a spoon out of the cupboard, suddenly feeling tense and awkward. God, he was doing a pretty shitty job of encouraging Derek to like him. He had no idea where they even stood with each other at this point. Derek was impossible to get a read on and right now, Stiles was wondering if he had misinterpreted every single interaction they’d ever had.

When he made to move towards the fridge, Derek intercepted him, and set the cream on the counter near the mugs for him. 

“Uhm, thanks,” Stiles mumbled, trying desperately to think of something to say that wasn’t embarrassing. Now that he was standing across from Derek in a silent room, with nothing to distract himself, all he could think of was how badly he wanted to explain his reason for texting Derek so late the night before. 

He fidgeted for a few seconds before he finally let himself glance at Derek, overcome by the need to gauge just how angry he was.

Derek was staring at the ground with his arms crossed, not looking particularly mad or even annoyed. Other than that, Stiles couldn’t begin to describe the look on his face.

Stiles cleared his throat before speaking, hoping nothing too stupid came out of his mouth. “Can I just apologize for—I mean, I know you’re probably pissed at me for texting you so late last night. I shouldn’t have done that. It was presumptuous of me to ask to begin with, and I definitely shouldn’t have pushed when you didn’t agree right away. You were right that I was drinking and I—it was rude and I’m sorry.”

He chanced another quick look at Derek, only to find that he was staring openly. Stiles frowned, mentally backtracking. He must have said something he shouldn’t have to elicit such a response from Derek.

“Stiles.”

“Oh my god.” He jumped, eyes flicking to Derek’s face. “What?”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“Are you sure? Because you seem like you’re mad.”

Derek snorted, shaking his head. Now it was Stiles turn to gawk. To say he was confused was an understatement.

“You do realize that, had I wanted to say no to you, I would have, right?”

“ _What_?”

“Do I need to spell it out for you?” 

“Yup, that’s a yes,” Stiles squawked, trying to process what Derek’s words meant. Why he was having such a hard time believing that Derek might actually want to be around him was beyond his grasp at the moment. 

He stared at Derek’s back as he poured coffee in both of their mugs, then accepted the coffee Derek pushed into his hands. Momentarily distracted by the scent of coffee, it took Stiles a second to realize Derek had actually fixed his coffee for him. He took a sip, pleasantly surprised. For a guy who drank black coffee, he was good at proportions. 

“First of all, did you forget about shutting off the power for me the other day?”

Stiles shook his head. “Well, no. I just didn’t think that was a big deal.”

“Exactly,” Derek huffed, not quite laughing. “So why is asking for a ride to work a big deal?”

“Dude, those are completely different situations! I basically drunk-texted you at 3 in the morning. Did that not bother you at all?”

Derek’s eyebrows rose. “I told you, I was already awake.”

“It’s still—you really aren’t pissed? Not even a little bit?”

“No.”

Stiles studied him, squinting a little as he considered what Derek had said. If it was true, then Stiles really needed to stop doubting himself when it came to Derek. Clearly he didn’t mind having Stiles around if he was still standing there talking to him. 

“Do you want to go to dinner tonight?” Stiles asked, his eyes widening when he realized, a moment too late, how suggestive that sounded with zero context. “Shit, nope, that came out wrong. Don’t even look at me right now.” 

He blushed bright red and fumbled his coffee cup onto the counter to avoid spilling it on himself as he flailed his way through the embarrassment.

Derek let out that little laugh-like sound again. “The dinner Laura’s going to?”

“Yes. God, it’s a good thing you’re sharper than the average tool. Ah, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to use that one. Totally nailed it!”

Stiles burst into laughter. Boy, this conversation sure had taken a turn. “That one was unintentional, I swear to God.”

Derek just shook his head—either he was unimpressed or he was doing a damn good job of pretending he was.

“So is that a yes?”

Derek shrugged, not meeting Stiles’ eyes. “Who else will be there?”

“I think Jordan, Lydia, Allison, so probably Scott by extension, maybe some other people from work. It’s sort of an open thing, so sometimes random people show up. We do this like twice a month and Laura’s never asked you to come with her?”

“She has. I just—” he stopped short, looking at a loss for words.

“You don’t want to be a third wheel? Because I totally feel you there. Happens all the time with Scott and Allison.”

“That and I don’t exactly socialize well.”

Stiles tried, he really tried not to laugh at that. “ _What_? You could have fooled me.”

Derek looked more uncomfortable than anything else, so Stiles forced himself to be serious. After all, Derek hadn’t outright laughed at him when he’d accidentally asked him out. (Not that he didn’t want to ask Derek out, but he didn’t think Derek was interested and he didn’t want to screw things up.) Anyway, that might not be a fair comparison, since Derek never actually laughed, at least not in front of him.

“How about you think about it and let me know later? I kind of need a ride home if you don’t mind, but if you _do_ mind, I will find another way so no pressure.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Okay, good.” Stiles smiled and topped off his coffee. As much as he was enjoying Stiles-Derek bonding time, it was probably about time he got to work on setting up the wireless network, and Derek also had a job to do.

He gave Derek a little wave and he slipped out of the room. 

 


	4. The Dinner "Date"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Against his better judgment, Derek decides to go to dinner with Laura's work friends. Lots of things go wrong and everyone leaves early.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter. I don't even know. If you've read this far and you're still expecting a plot to show up, I apologize, but dude, it's never going to happen. At best, there will be some character development and you'll laugh sometimes (I hope). 
> 
> I swear to god, this fic is writing itself. I have lost control of the wheel (not that I ever had it to begin with).

This was stupid. Quite possibly the stupidest thing Derek had agreed to in the last year, aside from the time Laura had cajoled him into going on a spa date with her. He still couldn’t eat cucumbers. 

Derek sighed, sliding out of his truck reluctantly. There were so many reasons he could have turned down the invitation, just like he always did, but the idea of having something to do on a Friday night—that wasn’t just hanging out at home with his sister—had been appealing at the time. Plus, he’d been craving chicken parmesan for _days_ and this place was the best. 

He hesitated outside the restaurant, his hand resting on the door handle as he tried to work up the nerve to go in. It wasn’t that he was anxious, per se, but he was definitely a little bit on edge. There was a tension in his shoulders that he just couldn’t shake, even as he flung the door open. Immediately, he was accosted by the scent of tomato sauce, and oddly enough, something that smelled quite like Chinese take-out. 

His eyes tracked across the seating area to his left, but there wasn’t anyone sitting at the small booths. He’d been to this place a thousand times for lunch and knew there was a larger dining room in the back, so he made his way down the short hallway that lead through the bar and into the back room. 

He hoped to hell Laura was here, or else Stiles, because he didn’t want to deal with awkward introductions on his own. These people probably thought the worst of him as it was, given that he’d never once willingly engaged in a social function with any of them. Laura tried. Derek was just an unsociable asshole most of the time.

Well, here he was, probably for the last time because he couldn’t see this going well. 

“Derek!” 

His eyes snapped to Stiles’ face and the absolutely ridiculous grin he was wearing. It was surprisingly easy to wipe the dark expression from his own face afterwards, but he didn’t intend to analyze why. 

“See, I _told you_ he said yes,” Stiles stage whispered to Laura, who was staring at Derek with the strangest expression. 

Derek didn’t say anything, just rolled his eyes at both of them and dropped into the open seat next to Stiles. He glanced quickly at Laura, not surprised to find her eyes still on him. She flicked her eyes to Stiles and back, raising her eyebrows in a silent question. 

Derek didn’t want to think about what she was trying to imply. He shook his head, a wordless plea for her to drop it. The last thing he wanted was another round of lecturing, this time focused on his apparent need to make friends. 

With any of these people? Not likely. Maybe it was harsh, but he didn’t think these were his kind of people. 

There was a pretty, dark-haired girl sitting on the other side of Stiles. The way she leaned into him as she spoke, their conversation easy and their laughter even more so, made Derek think she must be the Allison Stiles had mentioned before. 

Of course, he knew the red-haired girl was Lydia from the few times he’d dealt with her when trying to get ahold of Laura. She seemed okay, if a little too intense. A lot like Laura, really. The only exception being that, without the buffer of being his sister, Lydia’s intimidation skills actually worked on Derek.

The dark-haired guy sitting next to Lydia probably wasn’t Scott, if Derek’s understanding of Scott and Allison’s relationship was anything to go by. Whoever he was, his look of disinterest rivaled Lydia’s, and Derek decided not to get on the bad side of either of them if he could avoid it. It wasn’t worth it. 

Then there was Jordan, who Derek had a comfortable enough relationship with. Not that they talked much, but there was a mutual understanding between them that if Jordan ever hurt Laura, he was going to be very, very sorry. Derek had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t give a fuck that Jordan was a cop and the speed with which Jordan had conceded the point let Derek know that Jordan grasped the gravity of his words. 

Laura was the most important thing in Derek’s life, the only thing he had left, aside from Cora and Peter, neither of whom wanted anything to do with him anymore. He intended to protect her with everything in his power. If that meant threatening bodily harm to all of Laura’s potential partners, then of course he was going to do it. 

Thoughts of Cora had Derek wondering if he should try to get in touch with her again. She never wanted to speak to him when he called, and if she actually did, it usually ended in Derek listening on in resigned horror as Cora railed at him until she suddenly broke off and ended the call. 

Of course, if Cora ever changed her mind, even hinted at wanting a chance to be a part of Derek’s life, he knew he’d forgive her for every nasty thing she’d said to him in a heartbeat. As for Peter, he could go fuck himself. Derek had no interest in ever seeing or speaking to that man again. 

He pulled himself out of his thoughts, relieved to find that Laura was providing an easy distraction via introductions.

“So, this is my little bro, Derek. He’s slightly less grumpy than he looks.”

Derek kept his expression completely blank, not wanting to encourage Laura’s teasing. She went on, pointing to each person in turn, giving their name. He paid attention despite not really caring. He may regret his decision to come to dinner, but that was _his_ fault, and he wasn’t going to be a complete ass to Laura’s friends about it. 

“Unfortunately, you know Stiles,” she began, and if Derek hadn’t been sitting so close to him, he would have missed Stiles’ slight flinch at Laura’s words. He had to know she was only kidding, right? Laura was a bitch sometimes, but she wasn’t overly cruel.

“This is Allison, Allison Argent.” 

This time, it was Derek who flinched, so hard he was sure the entire table noticed. 

The moment slipped by, unmentioned as Laura continued smoothly around the table. By the end of Laura’s introductions, Derek had found out the guy’s name was Danny and that Lydia was leaving in a little while, just as soon as the damn waiter came out and took their orders, hers to-go.

For the next few minutes, Derek pointedly did not look at Laura or Allison or Stiles, instead choosing to stare at his menu as if he was seriously conflicted about what to order. 

The waiter arrived shortly thereafter, taking orders around the table for drinks and food. Derek asked for a glass of water and the chicken parm before escaping to the bathroom with as much dignity as he could muster. 

He locked the door and headed straight for the sink to splash cold water on his face, his stomach churning with a thousand conflicting emotions. How was it exactly that Laura had failed to mention she worked with some relation of Kate? All this time, and she’d never thought that was an important piece of information that Derek might want to know? Especially when she’d been inviting him out to wine and dine with these people for the last 2 years. He was bound to find out Allison’s last name eventually. 

Not that he had anything against her. It wasn’t her fault that she was related to the source of every nightmare Derek had had in the last 7 years. He hoped Laura would say something to her, explain his reaction somehow, so he wouldn’t have yet another person on his conscience. He couldn’t bear the thought of that.

A few minutes later, Derek stalked back to the table as if nothing had happened, the blankness of his expression his only defense. If it looked like nothing was wrong, then nothing was fucking wrong. After years of attempting to convince himself that was true, it had become his personal mantra. Very seldom did he believe it.

When he sat down, Stiles was talking sedately about something he and Scott were working on. Derek only half-listened, sipping at his water as the conversation went on around him. It was probably strange how soothing Derek found Stiles’ voice to be, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. As long as Stiles never found out, it wasn’t a big deal, and they could continue on with their lives. 

There was a lull in the conversation that pulled Derek back to reality, just as Allison asked, “So, Derek, do you have any embarrassing stories about Laura?” 

Derek smirked at the look of pure panic that flashed across Laura’s face at the new topic, before she got control of herself and leveled a glare at Derek. Was this his chance for payback? After all the shit she’d told Boyd and Erica about him, it was about time he returned the gesture. 

“Don’t you _dare_. I promise you, I have a story that’s ten times worse than anything you can come up with.”

“Do I look like I care?” Derek didn’t doubt the truth of his sister’s words, but he didn’t _care_ either. He knew Laura better than she realized. In fact, he would bet serious money that she’d already shared quite a few embarrassing tales from their youth with her friends, mostly at Derek’s expense, of course. So at this point, he had nothing left to lose, and a whole lot more to gain.“On Laura’s 18 th birthday—” 

“Shut up!”

He ducked just in time to avoid being impaled by multiple shiny, silver projectiles. During the subsequent moment of stunned silence, the objects clattered loudly to the floor, and Derek swiveled to see all of Laura’s silverware on the ground behind him. 

“Laura, what the fuck!” he growled, whipping a handful of rolls from the basket in front of him at her face. She dove out of their path and into Jordan’s side, the lumps of bread narrowly missing their mark. Instead, they flew past her and into the wall above another table. 

Someone gasped, alerting Derek to the fact that, yes, people were sitting at that table. 

He looked beyond a giggling Lydia to see a couple with a small child giving him a dirty look. So that was probably bad... He tried his best to appear sheepish, but given that everyone was bursting into laughter around him, it probably didn’t matter. 

Jordan had a hand over his mouth, at least _trying_ to smother his laughter, as Laura’s steady gaze burned into Derek, daring him to try again. Stiles, Allison, and Danny were roaring with laughter, clearly having been on the receiving end of Laura’s terrifyingly good aim, but never daring to return the gesture. 

“I told you not to say anything,” Laura said, her voice oddly calm for someone who’d just attempted to stab her brother with kitchen utensils, and then almost been pelted by chunks of slightly burned bread. 

“And I told you,” Derek leaned towards her, his voice pitched low so that the other restaurant-goers didn’t hear him and get their entire party kicked out. It had happened before. “ _I don’t care_ , you bitch.”

Laura let out a bark of laughter, then lunged forward and snatched Derek’s bundle of silverware right out from under him. He grabbed for her wrist, almost spilling both their drinks during the ensuing struggle, before he remembered they were in a public place and let abruptly go. 

He growled, though his own expression mirrored Laura’s playful smirk. It was definitely a good thing the table was between them because this was but a single battle in a brutal war that had been going on for the majority of their lives.

Someone at the table cleared their throat and the two of them sat back just in time—looking to all the world like mature adults who hadn’t been about to brawl over a fucking fork—for the waiter to emerge from the kitchen, carrying a tray full of plates. 

The kid passed plates around until he got to Derek, a falsely apologetic frown on his face. “Sir, your order will be out shortly, we’re sorry for the delay.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

Derek narrowed his eyes threateningly in the kid’s direction, letting him know just how little that apology meant to him. The kid scurried away so fast that he left his serving tray behind. 

Derek sighed and leaned back in his chair, tempted to swipe the tray onto the floor just to be an ass. The promise of good food was his main reason for agreeing to come to dinner and without that to distract him, it was going to be torture, just sitting there in silence. He met Laura’s gaze across the table. Ah, yet another mistake to add to this evening’s list. 

A misleadingly sweet smile blossomed on her face. “That’s what you get, Der-Bear.”

Derek rolled his eyes, wishing he at least still had his silverware. This was just unfair. 

Lydia’s chair squeaked as she pushed away from the table, her food and Danny’s boxed up. She had a faint air of supremacy about her that reminded Derek markedly of Laura. 

“Well,” she began, “this has certainly been more entertaining than expected. You should come out with us more often, Derek. I wish I could stay, but I’ve got to pick up Jackson from the airport. And by that I mean I’ve got a date with Danny to beat the shit out of Jackson as soon as he makes it through customs.” 

The grin that lit up her face was terrifying.

 Derek’s eyes flicked to Stiles’, curiosity getting the best of him. Stiles had claimed he was no longer in love with Lydia and for some reason, Derek found himself hoping it was the truth. He stopped that thought in its tracks, instead focusing on Lydia as she glided around the table to Allison. 

“Lyds, promise you’ll at least wait until you’re in the parking lot. Airport security and all?” Allison pleaded, though her amusement was clear even to Derek. Okay, he could definitely see how these were people Laura chose to spend her time with.

When Allison stood up to hug Lydia, Stiles ended up in his frame of view. Derek didn’t want to stare at Stiles anymore than he already had in the short time they’d known each other, so he looked away, his gaze settling on Laura and Jordan instead. They were whispering to each other as Lydia cackled, then hugged an abnormally quiet Stiles. 

“See ya later, Lydia,” he murmured, sitting back down. His chair was suddenly a lot closer to Derek’s than it had been moments before, but he didn’t seem to notice. Well, if Stiles didn’t care, then neither did Derek. 

There was a chorus of goodbyes as Lydia and Danny slipped out the back door, and then the table fell silent. Apparently, without Stiles constant talking, there wasn’t much going on. 

“Lydia’s right,” Laura said around a mouthful of pasta. “You should come out with us more often, Derek.” 

She waved Derek’s fork in his face, smirking. 

“Yeah, I’m really enjoying watching you guys eat,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes. If that stupid waiter didn’t come back with his food soon, he was going to hunt him down and choke him.

Stiles pushed his plate towards Derek, not saying a word. Derek glanced over at him, concerned. Maybe he didn’t know the guy very well, but it seemed like something was wrong. He wasn’t about to ask, especially not with three other people at the table.

In lieu of that, he snagged a few fries off Stiles plate and was rewarded with a smile. Then Allison’s phone began to ring and Stiles’ face fell flat before she even answered it. 

“Scott! What’s wrong?” Allison demanded as soon as she connected the call. 

“Hey, babe! Nothing’s wrong,” came the voice on the other end, loud enough for at least Stiles and Derek to hear. “I got out of class early. You should come home _right now_...for dinner.”

Allison blushed. Whether or not she realized her conversation was being overheard wasn’t clear, but obviously Scott had a little more in mind than just dinner.

“I—” Allison broke off, looking at Stiles and then Laura. “Do you guys mind if I ditch?”

“Oh, just go! Don’t worry about us,” Laura said with a wink. Yeah, she’d heard the conversation, too. 

“Okay, Scott, I’ll be home in like 15 minutes tops.”

Stiles cleared his throat, speaking over Scott’s obviously joyous reply, “Uh, in that case, can someone else give me a ride home? Or should I plan on catching a cab?” 

Surprise flickered across Allison’s face, followed shortly by a guilty expression that told Derek she’d forgotten about Stiles. Had he still not taken care of...whatever mess was in his Jeep? 

“Derek knows where he lives,” Scott supplied loudly through the phone, catching everyone at the table off-guard.

“Oh, _really_?” Laura shot an accusatory glance at Derek, one eyebrow quirked in question. When Derek didn’t deign to reply, she narrowed her eyes and he suddenly regretted not telling her sooner. Not that he’d had a chance, really. “I see. So Derek won’t mind giving Stiles a ride home, then?” 

“You don’t—”

“Shut up. It’s fine,” Derek interjected, rolling his eyes at Stiles’ inability to understand that giving him a lift home wasn’t even close to being an inconvenience. 

Allison was out the door before anyone had a chance to say goodbye.

“We, uh, are actually gonna head out, too, Derek,” Jordan said, his gaze shifting between Stiles and Derek as he and Laura gathered their belongings and got up from the table. 

“So?” Derek questioned, scowling. “I’m not going to stop you.”

“Be nice,” Laura chided, slapping Derek upside the head. He growled at her, but got to his feet regardless, welcoming the hug she offered. 

They pulled apart at Stiles teasing “aww” in the background. Laura said a quick goodbye to him before she and Jordan were out the door as well, leaving behind the company credit card to pay for the meal.

Derek dropped back into his chair, the last ten minutes a whirlwind of action. He wanted to go home _almost_ as much as he wanted to fucking eat.

Not ten seconds later their waiter arrived, as if the kid was paid to wait until everyone else had gone home. He had two plates, one full fries and the other, thank God, Derek’s chicken parm. 

The kid tried to apologize, offering the fries like they were a magical gift, but Derek brushed him off, already reaching across the table for his fork on Laura’s plate. The bitch.

Derek ate in silence, and it might have been awkward if he wasn’t so used to being alone that he completely forgot about Stiles’ presence until they bumped elbows.

Derek waited for Stiles to say something, to make some joke or start babbling uncontrollably, but he never did. Yeah, that was definitely disconcerting. 

“Are you okay?” he asked finally, turning towards Stiles. 

“I’m fine.” 

“Oh, right, my mistake,” Derek returned, arching an eyebrow at Stiles. “You aren’t acting weird at all.”

“What? I’m super. Super great.” Stiles smiled, but even Derek could tell it was a little forced. “Just fan-fucking-tastic, really.”

“You’re a shitty liar. Are you aware of that?”

“Yup. Completely, painfully aware. Thank you for pointing that out,” Stiles snapped, refusing to meet Derek’s eyes.

“Hey, I’m not—” Derek stopped, a thought occurring to him. “This isn’t—Are you still upset about what Laura said? Earlier.”

Stiles shook his head slowly, picking at the plate of fries the waiter had brought out.

“No. I mean, a little, but it’s not—I don’t—Ugh,” Stiles sighed heavily, shoving a handful of fries into his mouth. 

“Just tell me.” Derek demanded, pulling the plate out of Stiles’ reach and raising his eyebrows in a challenge he didn’t expect him to take. 

There was a long pause, long enough that Derek began to wonder if he’d been too harsh, if maybe he should apologize and just stay out of Stiles’ business from now on. That was probably for the best. It wasn’t like Derek was going to be any help anyway.

But then, to Derek’s shock, Stiles actually answered. 

“Don’t laugh at me, okay? Just please don’t laugh.” 

“I’ll try not to,” Derek said, failing to keep the disbelief from his voice. Had he ever even laughed with Stiles present? He didn’t think so. 

“Dude, I’m serious. Don’t.”

Derek nodded his acceptance. “Okay.”

“It feels like—” Stiles paused, sucked in a deep breath, and then continued in a rush like he was trying to make up for his last 30 minutes worth of silence. “It’s like everyone just humors me and puts up with my shit until they get bored. Eventually, something or someone better comes along and they just...stop. I _know_ I can be annoying, and I never shut up, but it hurts like hell when everyone treats me like I’m something expendable, like I’m just hanging around to provide comic relief or some shit.”

“Stiles,” Derek reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, but pulled back at the last second, not sure where the instinct had even come from. “I can’t speak for everyone, but I know Laura was only joking earlier. She’s a bitch, but she means well.”

“Well yeah, I know she was joking. But she always says shit like that to me, and well,” Stiles stopped, glancing at Derek like he was trying to gauge his reaction. “Even though she’s just kidding around, it still hurts.”

Derek tentatively nodded his understanding, not sure what to was the right thing to do or say. “I’m sorry.”

Stiles huffed out an exasperated sigh, reaching across the table for the plate of probably cold fries. “Don’t say that. It’s not your fault, Derek.”

They stopped talking for a while, Derek finishing his food while Stiles picked at his fries. He knew he probably hadn’t made Stiles feel much better, but that was okay as long as he hadn’t made him feel worse. Honestly, at this point, Derek couldn’t tell which scenario was more likely. 

 

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Stiles asked suddenly, tossing a fry onto Derek’s now empty plate when he didn’t look up right away.

“Working. For Laura.”

“What do you mean?”

Derek hesitated, not sure he wanted to open this particular can of worms. In Stiles’ hands, just about anything could happen. “She wants me to remodel a house for her and Jordan.”

“She’s moving? Not too far, right?”

“No,” Derek said, choosing his words carefully. “It’s the same neighborhood we live in now.”

“Wait, you live with Laura?” Stiles exclaimed, completely derailing the conversation, for which Derek was immensely grateful. 

“Yeah, is that a problem?” 

“Dude, I live with _my dad_. I’m pretty sure living with a sibling is a step up from living with a parent.”

“I don’t see the difference.” Derek shrugged. He’d never really considered it. For one, there wasn’t another option for him, other than living on his own. He wasn’t sure if he was quite ready for that yet, but Laura had been moving into Jordan’s apartment bit by bit over the last week, kind of like a trial run, she’d said. So, really, he didn’t have much choice in the matter. 

“It makes sense, to live with someone you care about, someone who cares about you,” Derek added, after a moment of Stiles staring at him, apparently waiting for him to elaborate. His next words just slipped out, unbidden. “Especially when they’re all you have left.”

Stiles made a strangled noise, his eyes widening. Derek looked away, his ears burning as he replayed what he’d just said. Maybe that was a little too much at this stage of their...friendship or whatever this was supposed to be. (It was probably too much at any stage.)

“Derek—” Stiles’ voice broke and his mouth snapped shut, so many emotions flickering across his face that Derek didn’t even try to understand what was going on in his head. “That was—I don’t—how do you know about my mom?” 

“Laura,” Derek said, hoping Stiles wouldn’t take issue with Laura’s tendency to tell Derek a lot of personal information about her employees and friends. 

“Oh. She talks about me?”

“She talks about everyone,” Derek amended, not sure what to make of the small smile on Stiles’ face. “That’s how I know she’s shit-talked about me to all of you guys.” 

Stiles’ smile grew into a grin and Derek knew. He just _knew_ Laura had told the fucking wedding story. Derek still maintained that he hadn’t been quite as wasted as Laura claimed. He remembered... _most_ of that night. Things got fuzzy around midnight, but that was hardly enough time to wreak as much havoc as Laura’s story boasted. The part about tripping a tipsy Peter on the dance floor and sending him sprawling into his new wife so hard that he broke her nose? That might have actually happened. 

Derek felt the corners of his mouth quirk up at the vivid memory. They got divorced 3 weeks later, but Derek would never hear the end of it from Laura. He dreaded the jokes he’d hear at the next wedding they attended, probably hers, if things with Jordan kept going in the right direction. They’d been dating for years, and moving in together, getting a house together at that, was certainly a huge step towards marriage in Derek’s mind. 

When Derek looked at Stiles again, he burst into laughter, covering his face with his hands to muffle to the sound. Derek grumbled something unintelligible, his own laughter bubbling up as he glared (pathetically) at a cackling Stiles. 

When Stiles started trying to speak again, his words garbled by his giggles, Derek scooped a handful of fries off Stiles’ plate and tossed them in his face. 

“Shut up,” he growled, not really meaning it. It was—admittedly—nice to laugh again around someone that wasn’t Laura, or Boyd and Erica on rare occasion. Maybe if this was going to become a _thing_ , Derek coming to these dinners, he should invite those two along. They’d fit in well with Laura’s crowd.

“Fine, whatever. Ruin all the fun. But come on, you’ve got to admit it’s not often you hear a story that’s so hilariously satisfying from start to finish. The fucking _irony_ , dude. I mean, not only did you manage to make the bride bleed all over her wedding dress, but you broke your wrist in the process, got the cops called on yourself—”

“What are _you_ doing tomorrow?” Derek cut in, because Stiles was about to relay the entire story to him, and Derek did NOT want to hear it ever again if at all possible.

“Uh, being forced to deal with the fact that I have no friends who have time for me?” Stiles tried, grimacing. “Probably followed by a few hours of moping, during which I will either nap or play _Second Son_. And then, if I’m feeling up to it, and there’s time, maybe I’ll try cleaning my Jeep again. Hint, there will be _so much time_.” 

Derek was about to answer when their waiter returned. He approached them, all nerves when he spoke, “We’re, uh, closing in about 20 minutes. Just, uhm, so you know.”

“Oh shit, really?” Stiles yelped, his phone immediately in his hands. The kid nodded, then bolted for the kitchen. Derek absolutely did not regret scaring him. “I told my dad I’d be home at a decent hour, which to him means about 10 minutes ago.”

“Let’s go then,” Derek said, already standing up. 

They made their way out to the counter to pay. Of course their waiter was there, looking terrified as could be, so Derek let Stiles deal with him. Either way, one of them had to fake Laura’s signature, and Derek had a feeling Stiles was the better choice. 

Wherever could he have gotten _that_ idea?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the rather abrupt end, but this was getting out of hand and I'm pretty sure there would have been another 1000-2000 words before the next semi-decent stopping point. Also, I think the next chapter is either going to be all Derek POV again or half and half. Oops!
> 
> I hope it isn't too random or confusing. I'm really trying to be careful about continuity and such, but things happen! If you see any glaring mistakes or notice anything that makes zero sense, lemme know! <3 ask if you're confused!
> 
> Also, in case you can't tell, Laura and Derek are my favorite thing ever. They make my heart hurt so much. (｡♥‿♥｡)
> 
> Also also, I promise Scott will redeem himself soon (Allison, too!).


	5. The Stiles-Derek Correlation. Rev. ed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek gives Stiles a ride home. They talk a lot and it kind of feels like the end of a date, but it isn't a date. It was never a date. (Not even when Stiles accidentally phrased the invitation as a date.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How much do I suck? If you answered "A FUCKING LOT", then you are correct! Congratulations! Please enjoy your prize: a new chapter! (It's short, I'm sorry)
> 
> A notational note: The bold texts are between Stiles and Derek. The bold AND italic texts are between Stiles and Allison.
> 
> (I promise, I will keep writing this—I just have so much stuff going on. I work 20-25 hours a week and I'm taking 16 credits + doing 4 hours of education fieldwork a week. So basically I'm busy. And I should have been doing homework during the last two hours I spent finishing this chapter.)
> 
> Anyway, here it is. I hope it's vaguely enjoyable. I didn't even read it over so it's probably a fucking mess. I'm so sorry. I'll edit it some time later tonight, I promise. If anything sounds stupid, just ignore it. Please. Thanks. <3

Once comfortably seated in Derek’s truck—after a bunch of papers, a pile of extra clothes, some Taco Bell sauces, and an empty travel mug were haphazardly thrown to the backseat—Stiles began to fiddle with the radio. He smiled over at Derek, deciding not to mention the mess that was the guy’s truck. It really wasn’t his place to judge considering the state of his Jeep at the moment.

“What kind of music do you like?” he asked instead, only slightly surprised by Derek’s confused look. 

“Why?” 

“This is important, okay?” Stiles insisted. “I have to ask these questions to make sure we aren’t going to get all invested in a friendship only to have it suddenly and catastrophically burst into—ahem, well, you get where I’m going with this. Just answer the damn question.” 

Derek just stared back at him, his eyebrows climbing as the conversation progressed. “I don’t really care. Anything is fine, Stiles.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, tempted to slap Derek upside the head. It seemed to work well for Laura. “Yes, but what do you _like_? I need specifics.” 

The radio was tuned to something electronic and again, Stiles couldn’t help but wonder whether or not Derek liked this kind of music. If he did, then the Stiles-Derek correlation that he’d come up with probably needed revision, and maybe, just maybe there was a chance this whole friendship thing might work out. Stiles just needed to avoid saying the wrong thing, talking way too much, making jokes that really weren’t funny to anyone but himself, and just in general being annoying. 

“This is okay. I like, well, softer stuff more. But this is fine.”

Was he blushing? 

“Softer like—” Stiles changed the station, cycling through to find something indie or folksy or anything in between. “—this?” he prompted, when he finally found a suitable station. 

“Sure.”

“Derek, would you please just say what you’re thinking? I can’t really decipher between ‘high’ brows, ‘very high’ brows, and ‘super ultra mega high’ brows, although I think your current expression is that last one, definitely.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Derek grumbled, his eyes resolutely trained on the road. 

“Well _sure_ , but—” Derek’s eyebrows shot up even _higher_ , a feat which Stiles hadn’t thought possible. He barked a laugh, trying desperately to rein himself in so he could speak well enough to weasel an answer out of Derek. 

After a steadying breath, Stiles tried again. “Okay, let’s leave my sanity out of this discussion. All I want is a straight answer about what music you like, sans the sassy brows. I swear to God, Derek. This is an easy enough question.”

Derek shot a glance at Stiles, apparently deciding to completely disregard all bans on bad eyebrow etiquette. “I already said I like this station. I’m not picky, but I guess I prefer this to whatever was on earlier.”

“You know, you should use more words more often. It seems to get your point across better than one word answers.”

“I don’t see how the word ‘sure’ was an insufficient answer.” 

“Do you realize how difficult you are to read?” Stiles said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Coming from you, that ‘sure’ could have meant anything from ‘shut the fuck up, Stiles’ to ‘yes, it’s my favorite thing in this world.”

“Oh.” Frowning, Derek looked over at Stiles again, this time clearly affected by Stiles’ words. 

Stiles patted his arm, hoping to assuage his concerns, whatever they were. Maybe Derek really wasn’t aware of how hard his expressions were to decode. It honestly didn’t surprise Stiles all that much, although he wasn’t sure how he didn’t realize it earlier. 

“So, why did you want to know what I’m doing tomorrow?” Derek asked, after about five minutes of silence, aside from the radio playing Agnes Obel softly in the background.

It was Stiles turn to frown. Although he was probably panicking a hell of a lot more than Derek had been. “Well, I was...just wondering.”

Derek seemed hesitant to push beyond the obvious lie. “Yeah?”

“Oh, what the hell.” Stiles sighed, forcing his gaze to stay on Derek as he spoke. “I was kind of hoping you were free so we could do something, maybe.”

And there were the eyebrows again! Back from their brief but well-deserved break. Derek looked over at him, probably waiting for Stiles to drop all pretenses and just spew his thoughts like he knew he wanted to.

“I thought we could hang out, watch a movie. Something like that. If that’s your thing. I obviously don’t know what you like to do in your spare time.”

Derek looked to be considering this for a moment, and Stiles immediately regretted opening his mouth to speak. This was probably incredibly weird and did Derek even like spending time with him? There were some reasons to think he did, but Stiles had just admitted to being terrible at reading Derek, so how was he supposed to know if Derek liked him? Or movies? Maybe Derek didn’t like just sitting around—

“Okay.”

“Wait, what?” Stiles shot back, dumbfounded.

“All I have to do is work on sketches for Laura tomorrow. We could hang out while I do that and watch a movie after. Unless that’s not _your_ thing?”

“No, it is,” Stiles blurted, just a little thrown by the conversation. It wasn’t so weird having Derek say yes, was it? After all, it was just hanging out, and they were both clearly in short supply of friends. “Do you have a large DVD collection? Because you seem the type.”

“I have a few. It was more of a thing Laura and I shared.”

“She took them all in the divorce?”

Derek huffed a laugh, but nodded solemnly thereafter. 

“What a bitch. I suppose she left you the VHS collection?” 

“She took those, too.”

“Of course she did.” Stiles smiled, watching Derek from the corner of his eye. “So, what are our choices?”

“I think I still have Pitch Perfect and Spiderman? If I have it, it’s because Laura hates it.”

Stiles laughed. That sounded like a Laura thing to do. “Right, makes total sense. Is it the new Spiderman with Andrew Garfield?”

Derek nodded, his eyes flicking from the road to Stiles every so often. “Pretty sure. Laura’s partial to the original.”

“I don’t know, I mean, Andrew Garfield makes a pretty adorable Spiderman.”

There was a short silence, during which Stiles had just enough time to panic over what he’d just said. Was that too weird a thing to say in front of a straight guy not-yet-friend? How was he even supposed to respond to that? 

“There’s just something about the original though,” Derek said, as if he was not at all bothered by Stiles’ purely shallow comment. Actually, he sounded faintly amused. 

“Okay, for argument’s sake, let’s just watch Pitch Perfect.” Yeah, because that was bound to be a movie Derek wanted to watch. All manly, attractively muscled construction workers loved rom-coms about whiny college kids singing and falling in love and throwing up, not in that order. 

Yes. Stiles had seen the movie about a thousand times. He was a sucker for a capella, okay? Who wasn’t? Aside from guys like Derek, obviously. 

Derek nodded. “Okay.”

“We don’t have to. I mean if you don’t want—what?” Stiles gaped at him. Derek was a supremely complicated person and he just...couldn’t figure him out. At all. “Have you seen it before?”

“Yeah. It was okay. I don’t really remember much about it actually.” The hesitant look Derek gave him made Stiles wonder if maybe he was judging Derek too much too soon. After all, he didn’t really know the guy that well and assuming that he liked “manly” shit just because he was a construction worker was kind of an awful way to begin a friendship.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that you shouldn’t have seen it.” Stiles said, a bit deflated as he stared out the front window of the truck, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. 

Why was this so hard? There really wasn’t anything complex about making plans to hang out as friends, was there? 

“I mean, I’m just surprised is all. You’re nothing like I thought you would be?” he tried, shooting Derek a sheepish grin. He wanted desperately to come off as a totally cool, collected, and not at all socially inept human being, but hey, if this was the best he could do? Then Derek needed to deal with it. 

“It’s fine, Stiles,” Derek said, just as they pulled up to the curb in front of Stiles’ house. He didn’t look overly annoyed, but the flatness of his tone of voice made Stiles think twice. 

He hesitated, unsure of where they now stood with each other. Was he making a mess of this? Probably. Did Derek mind? 

Apparently not. 

Beside him, Derek was tapping his thumb against the steering wheel, like he couldn’t figure out what to say or do either. After a slightly awkward silence, he just asked, “Okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure. Good. So tomorrow?” Stiles nodded, albeit probably too vigorously. 

There was a strange sort of tension brewing between him and Derek. Maybe _neither_ of them had any idea what was going on or where they stood with one another. Maybe Derek felt just as uncomfortable with the process of making new friends as Stiles did. He hoped so, at least. 

Otherwise, Derek’s body language and facial expression were indicating some pretty negative emotions. As far as Stiles could tell, he was either completely irked by Stiles lingering presence in his truck or he just didn’t give a fuck about the entire situation. Both possibilities created a tightness in Stiles stomach and throat, something between wanting to throw up and wanting to cry.

“Yes, tomorrow,” Derek confirmed, his gaze finally settling on Stiles. He offered a tentative smile, apparently realizing Stiles needed the reassurance, or else he was a mind reader. Which was a distinct possibility. “What time did you want to come over?”

Stiles smiled back, actually taking some time to consider his answer. “Would noon be okay?” 

“Sure. I’ll probably need another hour or so to finish Laura’s plans, if that’s okay.” Again, seeming to realize what Stiles needed, Derek spoke slowly and was almost...careful about the words he chose. Part of Stiles wanted to be offended that Derek thought he was too fragile for normal conversation, but then, Derek’s usual method of conversation didn’t fall into the category of “normal”. Which was perfectly fine, but it didn’t mesh well with Stiles’ tendency to overanalyze literally _everything_.

“Only if I won’t be bothering you.”

Derek’s eyebrows rose. Apparently they were fed up with Stiles worrying. “Stiles, I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t want to.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just—” he sighed. “I worry a lot. About what people really think of me.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Derek intoned, eyes never leaving Stiles’ face as he spoke. 

“You’re so hard to read, dude. I _know_ I said that already, but it’s the truth.”

Derek shrugged, still facing Stiles, and answered with a completely straight face, “Yeah.”

For a second, Stiles just stared at him, at a loss. Then Derek raised his eyebrows a little and Stiles couldn’t stop himself. 

He cracked up.

He laughed so hard his eyes teared up, and when he looked back over at Derek, there was a small smile on his face.

Understanding dawned. 

Derek had a fucking sneaky sense of humor and it was the greatest thing Stiles had ever experienced.

“Okay,” Stiles said, one hand on the door handle. “Tomorrow at noon.”

Derek just nodded, so Stiles pushed open the door and hopped out. A feeling of giddiness overwhelmed him as he looked back into the truck at Derek. Jesus, this felt a little like a date, didn’t it? It did. But it definitely wasn’t, so Stiles squashed that thought as far down into his brain as it would go and resolved to never think it again. 

Ever.

“See you later.” Stiles waved and turned to go.

“Stiles?” Derek called, like a thought had just occurred to him. 

Stiles spun around so fast he almost tripped himself in the process. He couldn’t imagine what Derek was going to—

“What exactly is wrong with your Jeep?”

_Oh._

“Oh.” Stiles shuddered. “Some dude threw up in my passenger seat. It was the most disgusting thing I have ever cleaned. I can tell you right now I’m never going to try taking someone home with me ever again. Unless we get a cab. That could work.”

Derek nodded. “That’s probably safer anyway.”

“Aww, see, you do care!”

“No. I just don’t advocate drunk driving.”

Stiles blanched, his face falling flat. Did Derek have a personal reason to care so much about drunk driving? Was he just fucking around again? Shit. 

“I was kidding,” Derek explained quickly. “Of course I care.”

“Right.” Stiles sighed over-dramatically, exaggerating his frustration with himself and Derek. Well, Derek’s personality quirks. “I’m going to get it right next time.”

“Good.”

Stiles smiled and waved, waited for Derek to do the same, then turned around and forced himself to walk all the way up to his front door without glancing back. 

As he opened the door, he heard Derek pull away from the curb. 

He hurried the rest of the way into the house, grinning the entire time. 

 

An hour later, Stiles gave up on pretending to read and pulled out his phone to text Derek.

**< < Did you get home okay?**

He got the response almost immediately. 

**> > Yes.**

**> > Didn’t know you cared. **

Stiles giggled to himself. It was a supremely embarrassing sound and he was glad no one was around to hear it.

**< < Of course I do!!! **

**< < And I know you’re joking this time :P**

**> > I wasn’t. But okay.**

**< < Oh my mistake.**

Just as he sent that text, he received one, this time from Allison.

**_> > I’m so so sorry about earlier Stiles. :( It really did slip my mind. I know that’s no excuse. Scott says he’s sorry too and to tell you that he’s also sorry he mentioned anything regarding Derek out loud, especially in front of Laura. As per your agreement, he will be giving you m&ms next time he sees you_**

Stiles clenched his teeth against an onslaught of emotions. He had such great friends, he really did. Even if they did forget about him sometimes, Scott and Allison loved him just as much as he loved them. He was still a little upset about how little he saw the two of them and he was never going to feel good about being a third wheel, but those things weren’t worth stressing over, let alone ruining friendships.

**_< < It’s okay Ally. I know you didn’t mean to forget me :P Tell Scott he is a grown-up and can apologize to me himself!!_ **

Derek still hadn’t responded, so Stiles shot him another text.

**< < By the way, Allison understands, about earlier. I hope you aren’t worrying about that.**

It took another 15 minutes before Stiles received a text from Derek, during which time he considered sending a dozen different texts, most of which were apologies for even bringing the topic up. In all likelihood, Derek had just been in the shower. 

Which Stiles was absolutely NOT thinking about. 

At all.

**> > Well, I’m not anymore.**

**< < :)**

**< < Sorry I always bring up bad topics.**

**> > It’s okay. You can’t help yourself. **

Stiles smiled to himself as he snuggled up under the covers in bed, feeling a sense of excitement (one that was becoming quite familiar) course through him.

**< < I probably could if I had to...**

**> > It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.**

**< < Ok.**

**< < Good night Derek :D**

**> > Night.**

He fell asleep wondering what Derek thought about the events of the night and if he was as hyped for the next afternoon as Stiles was.  

Stiles certainly hoped so.


	6. The Time Warp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek ruin their own movie day with much serious conversation. Their friendship continues to grow. Some other stuff happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so some things:  
> First, I updated Parrish's name since we actually know his name now in Teen Wolf. Not that I watched the latest season or plan to do so. (Never gonna happen)
> 
> Second, this chapter deals a bit with Derek's mindset and it's kind of negative, so yeah, there's that. 
> 
> Third, there's a time jump near the end of this chapter. Then there's kind of...a cliffhanger at the end. Sorry. It's even worse because you aren't going to get another chapter for like...ever. I'm awful, I know. <3 
> 
> Okay bye, thanks for reading, and don't forget to comment ;)

Stiles showed up at 12:05 carrying a large platter of cookies. 

Derek had flung the door open, ready to usher Stiles inside, when the sight before him finally began to compute. Well, it tried to compute anyway. 

 “Hey, uh, can I come in?” Stiles asked, shuffling his feet awkwardly as Derek just blinked at him. 

“You brought...cookies?”

“Yes?” Stiles laughed lightly, confusion drawing his eyebrows together. “Is that a problem? If so, I’ll just eat them all myself. Don’t even worry about it, dude.”

Derek flushed. “What? No. Just...come in.” 

He shook his head slightly, trying to clear it. Why he was so thrown by the idea of Stiles bringing baked goods was a mystery, one that Derek didn’t feel the need to spend any more time analyzing. 

“Okay, cool.” Stiles smiled as he slipped past Derek into the house.  

“You can just put that on the coffee table, if you want.” 

“Sure, Derek.”

Lingering in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, Derek watched in poorly concealed amazement as Stiles set down the tray and then unceremoniously flopped onto the couch and kicked his feet up on the table. 

Trying his best not to outwardly react to Stiles automatically making himself at home, Derek took a little too long to speak up. “I have to finish this supply list, but it shouldn’t take too long. Just...make yourself comfortable.”

“Is that for Laura?” Stiles questioned, gesturing to the paper Derek didn’t realize he was still holding.

Derek only nodded, not wanting to bore Stiles with any of the details. People tended to find his job uninteresting, for whatever reason. Presumably Stiles felt the same. Given his attitude when they had worked at the same site, it made sense.

“You said the house was nearby?” 

“Yes,” Derek hedged, simultaneously hoping that Stiles would change the subject and that he would press for more information. 

Stiles hummed, nodding. “How bad of shape is it in?”

With a sigh, Derek leaned sideways into the doorframe, mentally preparing himself for the direction this conversation was taking. “It needs to be gutted and completely remodeled.”

“You’ve seen it?” Stiles asked, his gaze so focused on Derek that he was beginning to feel uncomfortable. 

“Yeah,” Derek grunted, his hesitation now glaringly obvious. So much for unreadable. Stiles was going to have an easy time with this one. Resigned, Derek crossed him arms tight to his chest, hoping the expression on his face was more neutral than it felt. 

“What aren’t you saying?” Some of Derek’s tension was apparently bleeding into Stiles’ psyche as well. Stiles began to fidget, cracking his knuckles and fiddling around with his hands. _Fuck_ , his hands were distracting. Derek shut down that line of thought immediately.“Is it a terrible choice of home for Laura?”

Derek stiffened, but saw no way out of having this discussion. Honestly, he kind of wanted to talk about it with someone, especially someone with an outside perspective. His conversations with Laura on the subject always ended up in territory that Derek preferred to avoid. “No...it’s our old house.”

The way Stiles eyes widened might have been comical under different circumstances, but just then, his surprise only made Derek more anxious. “You mean...?”

So rigid he could barely take a full breath, Derek only managed to nod. He was certain that the strain was obvious on his face, no matter how hard he was trying to appear unaffected. 

“You’re okay with that?” Stiles questioned, his gaze locking with Derek’s. All Derek wanted to do was look away, but he couldn’t make himself do it. “I think I would be too emotional to deal with that. I mean—not that I’m implying you can’t handle your emotions well or anything like that. Goddammit.”

Derek huffed in amazement. Words really weren’t Stiles strong suit. (Not that Derek really had any right to judge anyone’s communication skills, given that his own were nonexistent.)

“Stiles, it’s okay,” he assured, crossing his arms a little tighter, holding as much emotion inside as he could. But there were cracks. There were always cracks in his facade. “I can’t. Handle my emotions well, I mean. But it’s something Laura really wants and I can’t say no to her.” 

Stiles nodded, his gaze never straying from Derek’s face. “That’s nice of you. I’m sure it’ll be worth it in the end, but are you sure you want to deal with that? Not that I’m trying to tell you what to do, I just don’t think it’s a good idea to put, well, to put someone else’s needs before your own.”

“Laura’s needs _are_ my needs,” Derek said, the words coming out faster and with more heat than he intended. He heard himself speak but the actual words didn’t register right away. When they did, he felt like he’d been punched. The sudden realization made him want to curl in on himself, feeling a bit sick. He had no right to deny Laura something that was important to her. He couldn’t do that to her. Not again. “She’s all I have left.” 

It was quiet for a long time, Derek staring hard at the floor to avoid Stiles’ eyes.What the hell was he even doing? Admitting this shit out loud when he couldn’t even admit it to himself was just crazy. What was it about Stiles that made him want to talk about it?

“Derek,” Stiles started, then stopped, his voice as unsteady as Derek felt. “Derek, come sit. Please. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Well aware of that possibility, Derek did as he was told, dropping down onto the couch as far from Stiles as possible. He refused to look at him for fear of what other feelings he might be inspired to share. 

“Do you want water? Or coffee?” Stiles asked, his concern obvious. Derek just wanted to stop feeling. He was terrified of days like this. The days when for some reason, emotions got the better of him, and he couldn’t block them out with any amount of distraction. The days when, seemingly out of nowhere, he felt so anxious he could barely function.

Derek glanced over at Stiles, surprise clear on his face. “You don’t have to—”

“I’m going to get you something whether you like it or not.” Stiles stood up and crossed the room before Derek had a chance to protest further.

Derek sighed, dragging both hands over his face. “Coffee. Please.”

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles agreed, but didn’t leave right away. Instead, he stood watching Derek, who couldn’t quite make eye contact with him. “Come on, let’s go sit in the kitchen.”

“I guess.” Derek got to his feet, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides. He refrained from scrubbing at his eyes. No amount of trying was going to wash away the memory of Laura screaming at him, kicking and clawing like a wild animal to get out of his arms as their entire lives burned up in front of them. 

“Jesus, Derek. What do you need me to do?” Stiles was suddenly right next to him, his hand hovering over Derek’s arm but not actually touching him. 

Derek abruptly came back to himself. 

“I just need a minute. I’m sorry,” he mumbled, running a shaky hand through his sweat-damp hair. 

Stiles put a hand on his back, and gently lead him into the kitchen, like he was afraid Derek might break into pieces if he applied any pressure at all. Without thinking about it, Derek leaned into the touch, focused on it to avoid slipping back into his memories. 

Once they got to the kitchen, Derek sat down and focused on breathing, on staying in touch with reality, only faintly aware of his surroundings. He realized belatedly that Stiles was speaking. 

“My mom, she used to come home from work and sit me down like this, in the kitchen, ask me all about my day at school. I told her everything. How I lost a tooth in gym class when some kid chucked a ball at my face or failed a math test or seriously embarrassed myself in front of someone cute. That last one happened on a daily basis. She always laughed. She told me we should always find humor in our lives because if we don’t, we’ll get too caught up in feeling bad for ourselves.”

Derek let himself fall into the pleasant lilt of Stiles’ voice, images of Stiles as a little boy, glued to his mother’s hip, forming in his mind. He felt himself start to relax, somehow finding comfort in the private moments Stiles was sharing with him. 

“When she died, I think I let myself forget that for a long time. There was this giant hole in my chest. How was I supposed to laugh about that? It felt like I couldn’t breath. I had panic attacks over the smallest things. I still do, sometimes. But I try. I fucking try and that’s really all you can do. And I know losing my mom is nothing like what you’ve been through. I know that. But Derek, you’ve got to let up on yourself, okay? You’ve got to move on.”

Derek nodded, tracking Stiles as he moved around the kitchen. He understood the emptiness, the gap between how things used to be— _how they should be_ —and what they had become. To some extent, he knew that none of it was fault, that sometimes life got out of control and you couldn’t stop it. But still, that emptiness was there and it was never going to go away. 

He sighed and just said, “I know.”

“Then what’s stopping you?” Stiles asked, his tone imploring. Derek found himself wishing he had the answers, that he could make Stiles understand why moving on felt like such an insurmountable task. “What are you so afraid of?” 

“I don’t know.”

“I think you do, Derek.” Stiles spoke gently, meeting Derek’s eyes as he passed a steaming cup of black coffee to him.

Derek slid his hands around the cup, fingers brushing Stiles’ during the exchange. Neither of them spoke for a long while. 

Derek was lost in thought as he slowly sipped at his coffee, trying to think of a way to express his feelings of guilt and fear without sounding like he was completely crazy. 

He understood that the fire itself was not his fault. He couldn’t have prevented it, given the circumstances. However, Kate was his fault. Laura’s grief was his burden. Cora’s lack of a real family was on him. And he was terrified of somehow making everything even worse by trying to help. He’d already made things a thousand times worse with Cora by being too persistent. She wanted nothing to do with him. That was made crystal clear the last time they spoke almost a year ago. Derek swallowed hard, the memory still a fresh in his mind. 

When Derek looked up, Stiles was watching him. He smiled when Derek met his eyes, and for some completely unfathomable reason, Derek decided to try explaining his thoughts. “Laura always tells me to stop blaming myself for things that were outside my control. But I can’t...I can’t justify forgiving myself for something that _I_ made possible. I may not have lit a match and literally started the fire, but I brought a person into my family’s home and she hurt them. That’s on me.” 

“ _She_ hurt them. That’s what you said, right?” 

Derek hesitated, not sure what Stiles’ was getting at. “Yeah.”

Stiles plowed on, gesturing wildly as he spoke. “She did it. She caused a fire. She’s the one who got arrested for the crime. Yes?”

“Yes, but—”

Stiles cut him off. “How were you supposed to know?”

Derek shook his head, feeling helpless as he met Stiles’ sympathetic gaze. Stiles seemed to realize that Derek wasn’t being intentionally obtuse. That there were so many questions he still couldn’t answer.  

After a few more seconds of silence, Derek tore his eyes away from Stiles and brought his cup over to the sink. “Can we just watch the movie?”

Derek had never been more grateful in all his life than when Stiles just nodded in response and headed into the living room.

\----

After the movie, which he found himself only half-engaged in, Derek suddenly became aware of how close he was to Stiles on the couch. He shifted away, careful to keep his expression blank as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

Stiles heaved a sigh. "Derek? I know talking isn't your thing, but if you wanted to…well, I wouldn't stop you."

"I don't like to talk about it."

"I know. I know that. But I think it could help. You can't hold all this guilt inside forever. Well, you _can_ , but its going to eat away at you."

Derek leaned forward onto his elbows and put his face in his hands. Everything Stiles was saying was definitely true and Derek knew it, but it didn’t change the fact that he did not want to talk about his fucked up past anymore. At least for the rest of the day, probably for the rest of the year if he could manage that. 

“I’m not trying to pressure you. Maybe I should just shut up about it, but I’m just trying to help you.”

“Stiles, _please_.” Derek had already said more about the fire to Stiles today than he had to anyone in a long time. Well, with the exception of Laura, who still brought the subject up way more often than he liked. 

Neither of them said anything for a long while. Stiles shifted closer on the couch, then his fingers were splayed across Derek’s back, and it was like the entire room suddenly brightened. Derek let out a breath of air, the muscles in his face finally relaxing enough that he could unclench his jaw. Fuck, his teeth hurt. 

“You okay?” Stiles asked, voice pitched low as he leaned closer to Derek. “I’m sorry I’m stressing you out. I told you I don’t know when to shut up and I really wasn’t kidding. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just get a little bit carried away.”

“I’ll be fine,” Derek mumbled into his hands. Stiles was moving his hand in slow circles, more or less rubbing Derek’s back. Whether he realized he was doing it or not, Derek wasn’t going to say a fucking word. 

He kept still, really, really not wanting Stiles to pull away, but unwilling to explicitly say so. If Derek acknowledged it out loud, it would make whatever this was mean something and he wasn’t ready for that. 

“If you want me to leave, I understand.”

“No.”

“What?” Stiles asked, incredulous. His hand froze in the middle of Derek’s back, but he didn’t pull it away. 

Derek sat up and caught Stiles’ still startled gaze. “I mean, I don’t want you to leave. I would ask.” 

“Okay.” Stiles stayed close to him, probably too close, but Derek wasn’t going to complain, and clearly neither was Stiles. 

So Stiles stayed a couple more hours, until he got a call from Scott, asking him to come over for dinner and video games so he could apologize. 

He left the cookies with Derek (who proceeded to spend the entire night watching shitty television and snacking on the aforementioned cookies.)

\-----

Their lives began to run on a pattern system. Stiles texted Derek about anything and everything, from mundane to serious matters to weird shit that Derek still didn’t understand, all at random times of the day and night. Derek answered those texts to the best of his ability. 

Sometimes, they spoke on the phone, like the time Stiles was walking through a particularly sketchy neighborhood alone to get to an ATM. Or the time Stiles was bored and wanted to know Derek’s opinion of Gerard Way’s new album. Of course, Derek’s favorite was the time Stiles called and left a message wishing Derek a happy 3-month friendship anniversary. For some insane, childish reason, the fact that Stiles was keeping track made Derek almost giddy. He never mentioned it to Stiles, but he went home, flipped the calendar forward 1 month to the day, and scribbled in “4 Months”.

Other times, usually twice a week as of the last couple weeks, they met for a meal in Philly or sometimes at Derek’s house, depending on where each of them was working. Lately, Derek had been overseeing work for Laura, at their old house. The project had started last month in June. If they stayed on schedule, the plan was to finish the exterior by the end of August. That left another couple months to finish up the interior, and Laura and Kyle could be moved in before Thanksgiving, maybe sooner if they didn’t mind living in an unfinished house.

The project was both a good distraction for Derek and a huge fucking problem. It was nice to have a personal project to obsess over that he could work on at any time of the day or night. Especially lately, since he was getting even less sleep than usual. 

Living alone had been almost as bad as he anticipated. The number of nightmares he had on a weekly basis had increased tenfold and how shitty his mood was the next day really only depended on how much he talked to Stiles on any particular day. 

Conversation with Laura was always focused on the house, and she rarely asked him how _he_ was holding up anymore—probably because he told her to stop asking using some pretty colorful vocabulary. Regardless, talking to Laura rarely made him feel any better, but he wasn’t going to say anything to her. He didn’t want her to worry any more than she already did. 

It was the morning after a particularly shitty, sleepless night that he woke to his phone ringing. 

“What,” he grumbled, not bothering to look at the screen before answering.

“Hey, dude,” came Stiles voice, quieter than usual, as if in respect for Derek’s foul mood. “I need to ask you something.”

“Stiles, it’s—” he glared at the clock on his bedside table. It was almost noon, a completely reasonable hour for someone to call on a Saturday. “Oh. Yeah, go ahead.”

“I think my dad is dating someone,” Stiles blurted, almost before Derek had finished speaking. 

That was not what Derek was expecting. Although, to be honest, he hadn’t been expecting anything. With Stiles, it was best never to assume you knew what he was going to say. That way, nothing could surprise you.  

Derek sat up in bed, leaning against the headboard. After a brief pause, he figured he ought to help Stiles out. “Stiles, that wasn’t a question.”

“Oh, right! What do I do?”

“Well, what exactly is the issue?”

Stiles heaved a sigh. Derek could almost hear him cringing as he spoke. “He keeps having her over. While I’m home. And they do...stuff. So I leave. I climbed out my bedroom window last night because they were downstairs in the living room. I don’t even want to know what was going on down there.”

Derek snorted. Stiles’ life was never predictable, that was for sure. When he finally managed to speak, Derek’s voice wavered with amusement. “Stiles, maybe you should move out.”

Stiles just about jumped down his throat in protest. “I can’t! Do you know how expensive it is to—wait, never mind. Stupid question. Obviously you live on your own.”

“I also own a business and I’m not working on whatever meager salary Laura is giving you.”

“Hey, it’s not THAT bad.”

“Stiles, I’ve seen what she pays her employees. You could be making a hell of a lot more somewhere else.”

“Okay, but that’s beside the point. What do I do?”

Derek paused, a thought occurring to him. He had been considering it for a few weeks, but never really thought it was a practical solution, so he never brought it up. Now though? What the hell. It was worth mentioning.

“You could move in with me.”

Stiles honest to God started to choke. Derek would have laughed if he wasn’t rapidly realizing how great and convenient his idea actually was. Still, he wasn’t going to put any pressure on Stiles to agree to it.

“Stiles, it was just a suggestion. I don’t really...living alone isn’t really working out for me, but I also don’t want to move. So I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I just wasn't sure if—” 

“Stop right there. Are you serious?”

“Completely,” Derek affirmed, trying to keep the hopefulness out of his voice. 

“Okay, well maybe I can come over and we can talk logistics—”

The doorbell rang, effectively cutting Stiles off. 

“Hold on, someone’s at the door,” Derek interrupted, climbing out of bed and navigating through the haphazardly arranged mess that he called his bedroom. 

“Maybe it’s me,” Stiles said, his laughter loud and comforting in Derek’s ear. “Or maybe it isn’t.”

Derek felt himself smiling the entire way to the door. 

When he swung the door open, though, so many emotions coursed through him that he just stopped feeling. Words that he had wanted to say for so long abandoned him.

“Stiles, I’ll call you back.” He hung up without waiting for a response.

His mind was empty, but for a single thought.

“What are you doing here?”


	7. The Second Chapter in Two Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek has an unexpected visitor. Stiles and Scott have some bro time and Stiles makes a confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's finally some Scott and Stiles in this one! It just hasn't worked out so far, for various reasons, but here you go! There will be more later, I promise :)
> 
> Also, let's just talk about how I got two chapters out this quickly. Sure, this one is mainly conversation, but still. I'm not sure what happened. I was going to delay this chapter another week since I don't know how long it will be before I get chapter 8 out, but I felt bad about that cliffhanger. So here's this. I couldn't think of a chapter title and I just wanted to post this, so ignore my laziness there please. :)
> 
> Also also, I'm pretty sure this entire chunk of chapters (like 6-8 at least) is just like 5000% angst and I'm sorry but it's writing itself that way and I can't help it. That's what I get for writing that fluffy chapter in the car. I've used up my fluff allotment.
> 
> Anyway, thanks so much for continuing to read & please comment if you have a chance! It means a lot! <3

There she was, standing on his doorstep, and he hadn’t a clue what to say to her. It’d been years since he’d seen her. She was just an innocent teenager back then, her hair always straightened, andso talkative, probably the most vocal person Derek knew other than Stiles. 

But now? She was 22. An adult, really. And Derek had missed it. He’d missed her turning 16, missed her turning 18, and then 21. Every major milestone was lost to him. Graduation. Her first day of college. To think she’d had to spend the last 7 years without a family—other than Peter, who Derek doubted had been very good company—made Derek feel physically ill.

“Cora,” he finally managed to whisper, suddenly feeling lightheaded. He braced himself with a hand against the door frame and just stared at her, his beautiful little sister who deserved so much better than what life had given her.

“Hey, Derek.” She didn’t smile, but she was here. That had to mean something. 

He cleared his throat, and miraculously, his voice didn’t crack when he spoke. “Come in. Please.” 

Derek held the door open for her, and leaned away, trying to give her space. As soon as the door closed, though, Cora wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. 

It took less than a second before Derek started to cry. He was only half-aware of himself petting Cora’s hair with one hand and probably crushing her a little with the other. If he never let her go again, he still wouldn’t have held onto her long enough. 

“Derek,” she tried, pulling back a little. When her eyes met his, he saw that she was crying too. “I’m sorry.”

“No. You have nothing to be sorry for. You were right that it was my fault—”

Cora made a frustrated noise and pulled out of Derek’s grip. “No, that’s what I’m trying to say!”

“Okay.” Unsure of how to read the situation, Derek stepped back, giving Cora her space. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel like she didn’t have control over the situation.

“Can we sit down and talk?” she asked, more calmly, after a beat of silence. 

“Yes, of course,” Derek complied immediately. He gestured towards the kitchen and then lead the way. 

When they reached the kitchen, he pulled a chair around to the other side of the island and sat down. Cora eased herself into a chair across from him and looked around the room, her hands clenched tightly on the countertop. 

Derek couldn’t make himself look away from her. If this was just some fucked up dream, he didn’t want to risk breaking the illusion just yet. He wanted to memorize every detail, from her still-straightened hair down to the tiny scar on her left hand.  

After a while, the silence grew awkward, in part because Derek had been blatantly staring the entire time. When Cora’s gaze returned to Derek, she didn’t seem bothered by his gawking. She just asked, “Do you live here alone?” 

“Yeah—well, maybe not. I’m not really sure.”

“What do you mean?”

“Laura lived here too, up until a couple months ago. I’m not...I don’t like living alone, so I just asked someone to be my roommate.”

“Is that who was on the phone? Something weird with an ‘S’.”

“Yeah. Stiles.”

“And who exactly is this “Stiles”?”

“He’s a friend. He works for Laura, actually.”

Speaking of Laura, if she had anything to do with Cora finding him, and then didn’t say a fucking word to him about it, well, Derek was going to have quite a few things to say to her. Not many of them were going to be nice, either.

“Oh. Did you need to call him back now?”

“It’s fine. He’ll understand,” Derek said the words, but realized they probably weren’t entirely true. For whatever reason, Stiles was prone to freaking out if he didn’t hear from someone as often as he was used to. Maybe it was because his dad was a cop? Anyway, Derek decided it might be a good idea just to send him a quick explanatory text. “Actually, I’m just going to text him quick, if you don’t mind?”

Cora smiled, like she knew something Derek didn’t. He decided not to think about it and pulled out his phone.

**< < Don’t freak out everything is fine**

**< < My little sister just showed up, will call later**

Derek looked up to find Cora’s eyes on him. She looked close to tears again as she watched him, her jaw probably clenched just as tightly as Derek’s was. 

“Derek, I want to apologize to you. I don’t want to argue. I just want to explain before you say anything.”

He nodded, folding his hands on the countertop to avoid reaching across to touch Cora. For now, he’d just have to settle for seeing her. 

“You never did anything wrong and I understand now that what happened wasn’t your fault. I’m so fucking sorry that I blamed you for so long. I honestly didn’t realize—” she stopped, sucking in a deep breath and gathering her composure. “I didn’t know I was hurting you so much. I thought...I thought you didn’t care. You abandoned me. And Laura defended you. I felt like I had no one.”

Derek held his breathe, his teeth pressed so tightly together that his jaw was beginning to ache. Cora was trying to meet his gaze, but he wouldn’t let her, afraid of how much pain he’d see reflected there. 

“But I know now that you’ve—that I’ve hurt you by staying away. I’ve said so many awful things to you and from what Laura’s told me, I think maybe you believe them. Derek, none of those things I said were true. Not a single word of it.” 

She broke down into tears, but kept speaking determinedly. “You didn’t control what happened and you’re just as much a victim of it as I am. Maybe more so. And I’m sorry, okay? I’m so sorry and I’ve missed you so much.”

Derek knew the look on his face must have been completely unreadable, given that he hadn’t a clue how to begin understanding what he was feeling. Sadness at the years they’d missed out on. Anger, more at himself than anything. Definitely confusion. But maybe a little bit of hope, too?

“Will you say something?”

“You forgive me?” he asked, his tone hopelessly hopeful. He didn’t care. He just needed to hear the words. 

Cora leaned across the island and rested her hand against his cheek. His eyes snapped to hers. “Derek, did you hear a word I just said? There’s nothing for me to forgive. You never did anything wrong.”

“Cora,” Derek pleaded, unable to form any coherent thoughts to explain how he felt. He just felt so helpless. He’d never meant to hurt her so badly. 

Smiling, Cora looked at Derek like the last 7 years had never happened, and they were just kids again. Innocent and happy and completely adoring of one another. She dropped her hand from his face and scooted her chair back so fast it almost toppled over. 

She came around the island and pulled at Derek’s arm until he got the message and stood up. “Let’s go out to eat. We should catch up.”

Maybe she didn’t realize it yet, but he would do anything she asked. He’d go anywhere she wanted to go, whenever she wanted to leave, as long as it meant she was happy.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Stiles glanced at his phone for the fiftieth time in the last hour and sighed. Derek still hadn’t texted him back. 

He had limited himself to responding only once to Derek’s explanation of their hastily ended phone call. If his sister was visiting, there was no way Stiles was going to try to take Derek’s attention away from her. From the little Derek had told him, he and his sister had a strained relationship, and Stiles had gleaned that it meant a whole lot to Derek what she thought about the fire. 

So, he’d just sent the one text telling Derek to call when he could, but not to worry about it. And to tell his sister he said hi. So, okay, maybe it was _two_ texts. Whatever. That wasn’t the point.

The point was, it had been about 6 hours since he’d heard anything from Derek and that was kind of a long time for them. Not that it wasn’t completely understandable.

But Stiles was getting worried, despite Derek’s earlier assurances that everything was good, and that meant he was definitely not paying attention to the game he and Scott were currently playing.

“What the hell, Stiles!”

Scott’s voice jolted Stiles out of his thoughts. He flinched so hard his knee knocked their entire tray of snacks onto the floor. 

“Shit!” he yelped, shooting Scott a guilty look as he jumped to his feet.  

Scott laughed at him, but being the wonderful friend he was, got up and started helping Stiles clean up the mess. Really though, it was mainly Scott’s fault in the first place. By this point in their lives, he had to know Stiles was jumpy as fuck, as evidenced repeatedly almost every day of his life. 

After a few moments of scooping up chips and crackers in silence, Scott asked, “What’s got you so distracted right now?”

“Nothing,” Stiles shot back immediately, then blushed furiously because his tone had been incredibly defensive.

Wow, wait, what was that about? It couldn’t have anything to do with the utterly massive crush he was developing. Nope. Because that wasn’t happening. He had no feelings for Derek that he didn’t have for Scott. They were just friends. Regular, platonic friends. And Derek asking him to move in? That wasn’t weird or significant at all. Because they were just friends. And Derek just wanted to be friends. 

_Friends_.

“Stiles, this is almost like—shit!” Scott whirled on Stiles, his eyes wide and concerned. “Are you obsessing over Lydia again?”

“No, no, oh my god, absolutely not,” Stiles spluttered. He covered his face to hide how red he was getting and collapsed back onto the couch. “Scott, buddy, I don’t know what to do.”

Suddenly, it was like Scott switched super supportive best friend mode on. He crouched down in front of Stiles and rested a hand on his knee. “Is something wrong? Did something happen?” 

“It’s nothing like that. I just, dammit, I’m stupid. I’m really, really fucking dumb,” Stiles whined at the ceiling, refusing to look down at Scott. 

Scott punched him in the thigh, making Stiles squeak in a completely unbecoming fashion. Some supportive friend he was. “Stop talking about yourself like that. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t want to say it.” Stiles was well aware that he was being a child about it, but he didn’t care. He never claimed to be mature. 

 “Is this something to do with Derek?”

“Yeah,” Stiles mumbled, letting out a huge sigh. He should have known this would happen. Stuff like this always happened to him. It’s what he got for ignoring all the warning signs. 

“Okay, what about him?” Scott asked softly. He squeezed Stiles knee a little, probably trying to get Stiles to look at him, but that was never going to happen. He was way too embarrassed about this. 

Giving in, Stiles just started talking. Scott wasn’t going to care how dumb he sounded. “He’s...hot as fuck, to start with. Which I was successfully ignoring until I realized he’s also incredibly caring and kind of hilarious. I thought I could just be friends with him, you know? But the more time I spend talking to him, the more I realize this isn’t just friendship. Not for me, at least. And I don’t want to bring it up because I’m afraid I’ll screw everything up. It’s been so easy between us, I don’t want to make things weird.”

When Stiles finally chanced a look at Scott, he smiled reassuringly and plopped onto the couch next to Stiles. “Stiles, hey, don’t beat yourself up over it. It’s completely natural that you have a crush on him. He sounds great. I’m sure if you talked to him about it, you guys could just laugh it off and go on with your lives. It’s no big deal.”

“Scott, do you not remember what happened with Kira?” It was a low blow, bringing up Scott’s new coworker/friend/whatever, but Stiles didn’t want to hear about how “easy” it was to admit to someone you had a crush on them. Sure, it was easy to say the words, but what happened afterwards was completely outside the word-sayer’s control! 

Scott, to his credit, reacted with more patience than Stiles would have if their situations had been reversed. “That’s different. She told me she had a crush on me and then stopped talking to me. I told her it was okay, but I’m in a very serious relationship with Allison, so I’m just not interested in anything more than friendship. I don’t know what happened after that, because she started ignoring me.”

“I don’t want Derek to ignore me.”

“He won’t if he cares about you.”

Stiles remained quiet for a long time, trying to decide if he should mention that Derek asked him to move in with him. He wasn’t sure what it meant or if it would be a bad idea given his current predicament, but he really wanted to do it. And he planned on working out the details with Derek as soon as they had the chance. Obviously, with his sister being in town, that complicated things. 

So Stiles was a little bit confused and even more stressed out and he didn’t know what to do about it. 

“Do you want to play Call of Duty?” Scott asked, dropping a controller into Stiles hands without waiting for his response.

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. Sorry, I’m being a sucky friend today.”

“Stiles,” Scott admonished, patting him on the head. “You couldn’t be a sucky friend if you tried.”

“Thanks, buddy.” He shot Scott a wide grin. They really needed to hang out more often. Stiles definitely needed his bro time in order to remain a functional human being. As was evidenced by his current predicament.

\----------------

It was about 10pm when Stiles got a message from Derek. He would have been lying if he said he wasn’t literally waiting by the phone for the last two hours. In the dark because he wanted his dad to think he was sleeping and not realize he was awake pathetically waiting for someone to text him.

**> > Are you awake?**

**< < Yes.**

Instead of another text, his phone began to ring. He clicked accept immediately.

“Hello?” Stiles greeted, even though he knew it was Derek. 

“Hey.”

“You sound...tired. Are you okay?”

Derek huffed, a dead giveaway of the fact that he was bothered by something. “I’m—yeah, I’m okay. Today’s been a little crazy.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The silence that followed told Stiles two things: first, he was obviously very tired himself if he could manage to keep his mouth shut for this long and second, Derek was definitely about to share whatever was on his mind.

“My sister, Cora, she stopped by earlier. I haven’t seen her in 7 years, since the fire. She was only 15 back then. I think I told you once before how she refused to speak to me for most of the last few years. Having her show up unannounced when I haven’t heard a word in over a year? I don’t know how to feel.”

Stiles made a sound, hoping to encourage Derek to keep talking without actually interrupting him. 

“Obviously I’m happy to see her. I just, I’m confused. She said a lot of hurtful things to me over the years and I really believed most of them. I still do. But now she wants to take them all back, like they were lies in the first place. I don’t know what to do with that.”

“Listen to her. She’s probably right. And I’m sure she cares enough about you to understand that you need some time to process what she’s said to you.”

“You sound like my therapist.”

Stiles laughed, the sound obnoxiously loud in his quiet bedroom. “Well, I did take a few psych classes in college.” Yet, for some reason, he could never apply that knowledge to himself. 

“Can you come over?” Derek suddenly blurted, catching Stiles off-guard.

“What?” Not that he wouldn’t go over to Derek’s house in an instant if he knew he was serious.

“Not tonight, I mean some time tomorrow?” 

Oh. Well, he’d still go over. Derek probably already knew he was going to say yes. 

“Sure. What time?”

“Just text me when you wake up. I’ll probably be up.”

Stiles frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t think I’m going to sleep very well tonight.”

“Because of what Cora said?” he asked, keeping his tone light to avoid pushing Derek to talk if he didn’t want to. 

“That, and the fact that she’s actually _here_. I can’t stop thinking about how hard everything must have been for her.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I guess not. I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay?” Derek’s voice grew distant and flat. Stiles could practically picture his face getting all scrunched up like it always did when he was so frustrated he could no longer hide it. 

Stiles graciously changed the subject. “Sure. So is Cora staying in town?”

“I guess she’s been staying with Laura for a couple weeks.” Given the tension in Derek’s response, this was also not a good topic of conversation. Strike two.

“And no one told you?” Stiles pressed, ready to switch topics again if necessary. He had lots of ideas. One of which was the option Derek had sprung on him earlier.

“Cora said she made Laura promise not to say anything. I can’t believe she actually listened.”

“Did Laura and Cora talk more than you and Cora?” Eloquent, Stiles. Very eloquent.

“I didn’t think so, but now? I think Laura’s been lying to me about that. Which explains how weird she’s been acting lately. I thought she was mad at me.”

“Mad at you?” Stiles didn’t know what to think about that. Laura being mad at Derek seemed impossible. She talked about him like he made the world spin. Well, when she wasn’t sharing embarrassing stories from his youth. Still, she only ever spoke fondly of him.

“I kind of yelled at her a couple weeks ago.”

“Oh.” Yeah, that would do it. Stiles rolled onto his side in bed, tired of holding the phone up to his ear. He was probably going to fall asleep. It had happened before. 

“You’re probably tired,” Derek said. Sometimes Stiles wondered if Derek was secretly sitting outside his bedroom window watching him. Like some weird Twilight situation except he was pretty sure Derek wasn’t a vampire.

Couldn’t hurt to ask. Just to be sure. “Are you a vampire?” 

Derek snorted. “No, Stiles. I am not a vampire. Nor am I any other type of mythical creature.”

“Okay. If you were, I just want you to know I would be okay with that.” 

“Thank you. Now go to sleep before you get even weirder.” Stiles was pretty sure Derek was laughing at him, but he was also falling asleep, so it was quite possible that it was just an elaborate delusion.

Surrendering, he mumbled a quiet, “Night, Derek.”

“Good night.”

Stiles fell asleep with his phone still smashed between his ear and his pillow. 

 


End file.
